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INTRODUCTION. 



I 

'he leading ideas f-r this Drama aro taken from Carlctou's A't. 

\iaguire; or tha Broken Pledgz (American edition), but tliere has 
3een no attempt at a close adherence to either story or text. 
Withjut in the least desiring to forestal or disarm criticism, the 
au:Iior would point out thai the evil chara,3'.e.-3 of most of the 
damatis j^&^'sonce are inseparable from a warning work of tli s kind 
—the curse of drink is fostered and developed by sucli characters, 
^nd it would be mere idle affectation to deny that they exist to a 
limited degi-ee in Ireland, as well as in other countries ; but, at the 
same time, it must be insisted on that they are now far lees common 
In the Green Isle, than they were in the days when Carletoji penned 
his powerful tale^ 

THE AUTHOR. 




DRAMATIS PERSONS 



Art. O Brien- 
Frank, his brother. 

TOAL O'DOWL. 

COONEY, his father. 

Jimmy Murray, father of Maggie and Kaiith. 

Patsey, son of Art. 

Murty Nolan. 

Jeames Powderwig, ajz English footman. 

Barney Scadhan, a publican, 

Tim Flanagan, a carpenter. 

Larry. 

Shauneen. 

Maggie Murray, afterwards wife of Art. O'Brien. 
Kautii Murray, ha' sista', afterwards wife of Frank. 
"Widow Branigan. 
Biddy, servant of Art. 

Workmen, Neighbours, ^c, &'e. 



SCE^E— West of Irela7id. 
TIME OF k.CT\(y^=-About thirteen yei-s. 

TMP92-007663 



ART. OBRTEN: 



I' THE FLOWER OF KILMONA 



ACT I. 

i\ 

SCENE I. — (A stont-vxiU lane in the County of Galway ; wall ai 

"> baeky practicable and open Farm house in distance. Coonet 

O'DuwL, L. 0. ; Jimmy Murray, r. c. ; Tual O'Dowl concealed 

behind the wall, l. from Murray, but not from his father and 

audience ; all discovered and talking : — ) 

a 

Cooney. Thrue for ye, Jimmy ; it's just me own iday, too,— sorra, 
I and want, and distress, "ill be in the laud wid this murderin' spring 

weather — an' where'll the poor be then, God help them 1 
g Jimmy. ( With an ugly smile). Where, indade ? But sure ii's an 
"■ ill wuid blows no man good luck ; an' v-id all that fine store at yere 
. back, sorra a one o' me sees wher.V it is ^e 11 have to complaui any 
^ way, Cooney, wid prices rism' galore ! 

Cooney. ( With a cynical grin on his harsh features.) No, nor you, 
I Jimmy Murray, nayther, mebee. They do talk av yere havin' niore 
of all sorts in the barn than meself — poor old scaliogue that T am ! 
{ With a burst of frankness.) But come, .Jimmy, where's the use of our 
talkin' this fashion? Sure neyther of us 'ill be to the bad, ccme 
Michaelmas, an' it's time — we're both neyther of us so yonng as w*;- 
wor, Jimmy — we settled out o' hand that matter betune me Toal j n i 

your shl p of a girl 

Jimmy. Which shlip ? Shure there's two o' them ; an' both as fine 
geruls as ye'd see this side o' the Lough ayont— but what is it je're 
dhriving at ? 

Cooney. Arrah what are ye talkin' of man ? Ye know well v h it 1 
mane— aren't we to put the two monies together by marrying my 
Tual to your Maggie. 



ARI, O'BRIEN : OE H/^ 

6 

Jimmy. (Laughing). Bedad there's four to that bargain, an- 
Cooney. Well — an' there's me, and there's Toal, an' there's j 
willin' ; an' sure the colleen won't go again us ? 

Jimmy. Ye say so, Mr. O'Dowl, but faix it's not meself tb> ^ 
sure. 

Cooney. (Beckoning silence to Toal, who has been making iS so 
motions from behind the v^all.) Well, Mr. Murray, ye know yer 
mind best ; but av I Avas you— mind I'm only talkin' as a Mend^<*^y 
family — I'd sooner see me hard-earned money go to a young cP"^^ 
know how to dale wid it and make more of it — (divil a bother tho 
at bargaining, the whole country side, than my Toal !) — than to^ ^^ 

spendthrift fellow like that rip of an Art O'Brien ^^^ 

Jimmy. Art. O'Brien, inagh ! an' who'd give him a pound'* * 
he'd spend it the next minnit— for all the fine ould blood he has i 
veinS— and {musing) a fine looking chap, into the bargain ? ^H* 

Cooney. Thrue for ye ! He'd spend ivery penny, before ye'^iis 

cowld ill yere grave [Toal leans over the wall, and whispers t m 

father, vho goes on) an' he maybe a fine fellow enough, but my T^® b 

not so bad ^f« ■ 

Jimmy. Arrah, Cooney ! where's the use o' talkm' ? Surt^^l's 
gerul in Galway'd take a hunched-up little divil like Toal, av 
could get anything like a man, at all, at all ! " ^^ 

Toal. {Aside, xoiih a black look of hate at JJf wrra?/)— Huncheoli® 
little divil ! 

Cooney. {Aside, and waving him down.) Be (^a husht, avic ; WP 

Jimmy Murray, say he isn't so much to look at 

Jimmy. {Interrupting with a brutal laugh) Much to look •"» 
Bedad JVIaggie was laugliin' the other day, an' she says, says si 
" Sure little Toal's like the poonch in the show, barrin' he hasn't ^ ' 
faytures so good ;" ha, ha ! ^ • 

Toal. {Aside and bitterly.) A poonch widout the faytures ! "® 
moself that'll be avin wid ye for that, me fine-feathered colleen ! ^ 
Cooney. {In a rage.) Oh! a poo ch, barrm' the faytures! J-* 
Murray ; that's the talk, is it ? Oh ! then, good mornin' to you, 1 
Murray ! an' its raeself that'll be proud to dance jigs at Miss Magg.^^; 
weddin' wid Art, O'Brien that isn't worth a trancen for money — ^ 
an, an meybee he don't know how to wag his little finger {imita ^ 
drinjcing) neyther. Begorra, it's fine They'll be ! Ould blood, oi^> 
whiskey, an' ould cabin to live in, an' ould Jimmy Murray's Magf^ 
to make rale poonch wid plenty av faytures — the faytures of sin, a<i 
a/ s'orra, and av want ! ha ! ha ! 'o 

Jimmy. {Deprecatingly.) Oh, Cooney, Cooney, be dacent no^ 

Mir ; 

Cooney. (Interrupting, and becoming bitter as his passion cooV* 
D icent ! The divil a much daceucy "ill be left whin Art. gets at t 
wliiskey a bit ; an' sure it's he that likes the sup of it sence he wa?) 
g 'ssoon ! So (taming to go), I'll jest say good mornin' to ye, W 

Miirr.iy * 

TocJ. { Whispering.) Sure ye won't give up that a way ? Anrf- 

pi", a thwi t on him wid that bend of his. ye hold— sure its payable ( 

•a. monti'»'s no'icc. ' ^ 

Coo.icy. Aa" (returning)., av it's plaisin" to ye, Mr. Murray ^ 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. / 

Jimmy. Ah don't be misthering me, Cooney ! What are you 
dhrivmg at ? 

Cooiiey. {Not noticing the i7iterruption.) Av it's plaisin' to ye, Mr. 
Murray, Fll throuble ye for that trifle of a hundred pounds yere 
paying me interest on (Jimmy starts). Bedad I'm just in want of it 
when the month's notice's up — prices 'ill he low till after then, an' I 
can buy in all the praties and male till the rise begins ; as ye said je>t 
now, " Sure it's an ill w^ind blows no man good lack," an' 

Jimmy. Ah, tliin, what's come over the man ? Sure it's jokin' mo 
ye are, Cooney ? 

Cooney. Oh, the divil a joke ! A bargain's a bargain, all the world 
over 

2'oal. (Aside.) Stick it into him well, or he'll think ye're only 
codding him 

Cooney. Ahem ! An' I don't break bargains meself, nor do I let 
others break theirs. So I'll jest step down home, an' write the bit 
of a notice— good mornin', Mr. Murray ! 

Jimmy. (Catching at him as he goes l.) Arrah, what talk's this, at 
all ? Who "wants to break a bargain, Cooney O'Dowl ? Come back, 
man ! Not ould Jimmy Murray, I'll go bail. Sure stand there like a 
Christen, an' don't be playin' games wid us. 

Cooney. (Molificd a little, but still on his dignity.) I'm playin' no 
games, Jimmy Murray, but— sure it's bsst to be plain ? — I'll have the 
bargain stuck to— Toal must marry JMaggie, or I'll have my money ; 
an' ye must settle ye're promise down at wanst ; for afther this month, 
as ye well know, ye cute ould fox, ye, prices 'ill be gotn' up an' up, an' 
ye'd r^'pe all the benefit of the bad saisun, an' not me 

Jimmy. Thrue for ye, Cooney, sure I'd not desave a knowledgeable 
man like yere own self 

Cooney. Ay, that's fine talk, but Fll talk finer — av Toal an' 
M ggie's married before Michaelmas 

Jimmy. Oh, be raisonable ! 

Cooney. Well, then, before Christmas ; or, to be dacent wid you. 
within a year from this blessed day— I'll give ye back the bond for 
nothin' 

Jimmy. For nothin' ! Oh, be the mortial ! 

Cooney. Purvided^ purvided, I say, ye'U settle the £100 on 
Maggie, to be her ownj own 

Jimmy. (Eagerly.) Ay, afther I've had the rise of prices out of it? 

Cooney. (Musingly.) Well, yes ; sure it'll all come to her and Katith 
wan day. We'll fix it this a way : Maggie to have tiie £100 dovm 
as a weddiu' gift— an' sure it'll be my present, not yours— and two- 
threes of the rest when ye go to yere account, Jimmy Murray ? Now, 
understanth me— jest a twelvemonth for the weddui', from this ; oi ( 
have me £100 back at wanst ; an' I'll give ye notice ivery month, jest 
to tie ye to the bargain. 

Jimmy. (Affecting to laugh.) Ah, ye're mighty cautious 

Toal. (Aside to his father.) Wanst bit, t'.vice shy ! 

Jimmy. But I make the bargain, an' there's me hand on it— (ihf.y 
slap hands). Sure I was on'y playin' the joke on ye about v^]i:it 
Maggie said— divil a word but jokin' ! " Poonch w dout chs 



S AftT. BHIEN : OR ~. ^ 

faytures !" ha ! ha ! just to fancy the colleen'd have the wit to say 
it ! — divil a bit she did ayther, but just me jokin', ha ! ha ! 

Toal. (Aside, and coming forvm-rds as the of hers move of talking, h.) 
But I know she did say it ; and wlien she's mine she'll know 1 know 
it too ! And av that bargain's not kep— and me heart misgives me 
but Art. O'iirien (whom 1 hate lor his good looks, hate for his 
winnin' ways wid the gernls, hate like poison for his ould blood, and 
his fine talk, an' his gintalry !) — my heart misgives me but Art. will 
be wan too many for me. Av tliat bargain's not kep, I, yes I, the 
despised " Poonch widout the faytures," 'ill have my revenge ! A 
rootless, bare home 'ill revenge me— want, and sorra, and misery 'ill 
revenge me — drmk "ill - ha ! h > ! I know my game wid the ould 
blood — revenge me— blows 'ill revenge me ! Blood, and meyl>ee 
murder itselr, 'ill revenge Toal O'Dowl ! {Uxit r.) 

Cooney. {Coming forward.) Well, then, Jimmy, sure that's settled, 
an' we're all ould friends a^ain. Sure it's meselt thought ye was jokiu' 
all along ? 

Jimmy. Av coorse it was on'y me jokes. Sure there'll be no 
throuble at all at all, wid the shlip, who's as dacent and sinsible a 
geul as there's in Kilmona — the flower of Kilmona, as they call 
her. {Both exit, l. talking. 



ACT L 

SOENE II. — {Rough kitchen-garden at some considerable distanrA < 
behind Murray's farm ; practicable hedges for concealment, <icc. ; , 
summer-house with two entrances. Maggie discovered, hanging j 
clothes to dry an hedge, and singing) : 

Maggie : — 

"HAPPY COLLEEN." 

(Bright and cheerful Air J 

" Happy CollefH ! Working gaily 

1)1 a plenteous liome ol jc^y. 
Waiting lor the blissful morning, 

When ye'll wed yere own true boy I 

Happv Colleen ! Sure there's pleasure. 

Working hard although yon may, 
Fatlier. Mother, all expect it. 

Working, singing, all the day ! 

Hapry Colleen ! Where's the trouble 

E'er pan viwX your own true heart? 
Where's the darkness, wht-r'-'s the sorrow, 

Dragging tioth plight loves apart? 

Happy Colleen ! Sure no trouble 

Ever at your door shall stand ? 
For your lover's bold and constant. 

Worthing ha'd to earn your hand !" 

Poor Art ! Who'd iv- r think, now, whin he was a little gosFoor 
g ttin' bet ivery day at schule, that he'd grow up to be sich a fin 
scbolard, and write fine po'try for his little Maggie to t.ing ? Oh, a» 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. » 

didn't he put the fine tune to it ? Though it's meself thinks ould 
Roddy, the fiddler yon, had more to say about that thao he'd iver let 
on ! But sure it's all the ould blood— and meybpe he hasn't wrote the 
fine song about that neyther ?— the gr.^nd ould blood of the O'Briens, 
that was quality when we was on'y— wliat's this Art. calls it ? Sure 
it's meself is the fule this day to mlsrimimber— well, it was something, 
an' that's more than all can iimimber. Ha ! ha ! Well I am a cliver 
g ip ■.—{mcms.) " Happy Colleen, sure there's pleasure:" Ah ! an' if 
there's pleasure, there's work, too, and plenty av it. Washing, and 
scrubbin', an' bakin', an'— well, well, if father and mother are close, 
sure Where's the harm ? They worked liard. aad Kauth an' I must 
work, too ; an' av there is plinty of money in the bank, sure it's no 
harm to make more of it ? Only I wish me father'd be a bit more 
kind to the poor. Sure it's awful to think how close he is, an' what'll 
bad name he's got for a skinflint ! Ah, well, sure Kauth and I'll 
make it up to them, the cratures some day ; and m an whiles who so 
happy as I and Kauth ? " Happy Colleen I working gaily," &c. ; an' 
I am happy too — wid me own, own, darlin' Art plighted to me— ay, 
plighted ; there's the broken sixpence. {Kisses it.) 

Toal O'Dowl. {Creeps in bcJiind hedge l.) Plighted ! An' the broken 
sixpence ! Is it stolen a march on me he has ? 

Maggie. {Going on with her work, shivers.) Sure there's some one 
walking over me grave ! 

Kauth. { WithoiU.) Maggie \ Maggie ! mother wants ye in ! Come 
up out o' that at wanst. 

Maggie. {Singing.) '^ Happy Colleen ! where's the trouble ?" &c. 

[And exit m. e. r. 

Taxi. {Coming forward with a scoivl.) Where's the trouble ? Heres 
the trouble ! Here, deep down in the heart of Toal O'Dowl ! But 
he'll share it ; never fear, he'll sliare it wid you, JNIiss i\Iaggie Murray, 
fjiir and pretty as ye are ! av ye decave him — but she has d' caved 
me ! Plighted to Art. O'Brien ! ha, ha, that's a plight ould Jimmy 
Murray'll soon break through ! Catch him lettin' £100 go, and a bad 
sals n comin' on, all through a fule of a love- sic : gerul ! Lovesick— 
what's this love, they all talk of ? {Shrugs his shoulders.) The divil a 
one o' me knows, no, nor could never cone ve eyther ; but love or no 
love, I know what a fine slip of a gerul is when I see wan -inspecially 
when there's a fine bit o' money, too— so Miss Maggie Murray ye jest 
must be mine whether yere plighted to Art. O'Brien or not ! Some 
min's figures and face , and some min's brains ; a id, bedad, brains 
ginerally bates the faces and figures in the long rin J Whist ! What's 
that divil's ruction ? {Listens to singing s. e. l.) Oh ! be jabers, it's 
this ranting, bould boy himself ; good morning to ye, Misther O'Brien ! 
I'm in luck's way to-day, and may hear more love-raakin' than they 
know of ; so I'll hide back a bit ! ( Conceals himself c. ) 

Art. {Outside singing :) 

"THE OULD BLOOD." 

(Bold, defiant AirJ 
Oh, the ould blood, the bould blood ! 
The blood of the proud O'Briens, 

It rever oau rest. 

But must strive with the best, 
For the yyiiie, thojigh guarded b^ lions ! 



10 ABT. O'BRIBN . OR 

Oh, the ould blood, the bould blood I 
The blood of the rosiest hue, 

It bubbles and boils, 

If caught fast ia the toils. 
Of villiius uor honest nor true. 

But the ould blood, the bould blood I 
The blond that flowed in kings. 

It uevpr can stay 

From the battle away, 
Till the loud shout of Victory ! rtngs. 

Frank and Art. Enters equipped for journey , with bundles, <fcc., 
s. E. L. 

Frank. Arrah whisht, Art ! sure ye'll fright the dacent people md 
that wild row ! 

Art. Is it be singing " The Ould Blood V an' we wid it coorsin' in 
our veins. Faix I'm asha'ued a ye, Frank. One 'ad think ye weren't 
an O'Brien o' Limerick — one of the rale ould stock at all — but 
whisht ! Sure Mag's own darlin' self— she to whom me troth's 
phghted — must be on'y jest gone. Here's these clothes ringin' wet — 

Frank. Sorry I am, Art. ye iver bound her in that troth. Ould 
Murray'Il never have ye. Ye're too poor. 

Art. Who'd ax him— the ouM skinfliut ? An' av I am poor, havn't 
I the blood ? An' amn't I young and hearty ; wid a good trade of 
carpentering to me back ; and amn't you and me going over to set up 
pardeners i- Tim Flanagan's business at Ballynawhack ayont ; an' 
aren't we going to make a riglar fortune of it ? Oh to the divil — 
saving he was me father-in-law 

Frank. ! he divil yere father-in-law ! Well that's a queer connec- 
tion anyhow. 

Art. Ah ga long wid ye, Frank, wid yere nonsense ! To the divil 
wid ould Murray, I say, an' his money-bags too, av he'd come between 
me and me h art's darlin' Maggie, that I kem here this day to see— — 

Frank. Oh ! that's it, is it ? Well, then, I'll lave yese. It's the 
long tramp I have round be Eyan's, an' ye'll take the short cut and 
meet m^ at the crass ? 

A7't. Bedad it's the crass ye are yerself, Frank, ha ! ha ! that'd be 
going, and ye're own colleen, Knuth, coming down to see you 

Toal (aside.) Faix it's a purty plot they're having wid their " ould" 
pauper iDlood ! 

Frank. No Art., I'll niver bind no gerul to me till I see the way 
clare to support her, an' bether av ^ ou done the same. 

A7't. Arrah good morniu' to yere ri-u'ence — is it the preacher yere 
going to c "me over me ? But I know ye, Frank, av ye're slow 'and 
steady, ye're mighty sly too ! (Frank turns away as if Mirt.) Oh, 
niver take un so, Frank, dalin', sure ye know it's on'y me nonsense i 
Sure the divil a brother in the barony is fonder av ye than I am ? 

Frank. W^ell, well. Art., have yire joke — ye're always high- 
sperited— but, honey, jest awhusper — it's that same fine sperrit that'll 
lade ye into danger, when a cold boy, like meself, is safe. An', Art., 
sure ye'll be cautious in the new town ? ( Going r.) 

Art. Ay, thrust me for that, Frank, I'll be as steady as yereself, 
wid me own darlin' Maggie before me eyes to guide me. Well §f«od, 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 11 

bye, Frank ; HI not be many rainnits after ye. (Exit Frank, b. 

Art. (Sings a stave of " The Ould Blood;" and then whistles a 
plover call.) 

Teal {aside. ) Oh that's the call, is it ? Plovers is always f ules, an* 
easily gulled ! 

(Maggie and Kauth come, down^ m. e. r.) 
Art. Me darlin' Mag^e ! But what ?— Why, what's themather? 
{Maggie rests her head on his shoulders in grief.) 

Kauth. Mather enough, Art. ; but wasn't Fr«nk along wid ye t 
{Looks a ) 

Art. Sure he wa^ ; but faix it's the neglectful batchelor he is, to 
have a purty gerul like > e. {Kauth poicts aiul looks r. again.) An' 
what's the matter wid me own, own Mag ? 

Kauth. Bachelor ! Dye think I care for him, indeed » {Rums a 
tune and spreads clothes.) 

Maggie, {raising her head.) Oh, Art., Art. ! sure we're undone 
entirely ! ( Whispers aside.) 
Toal. {Aside.) What's that ? 

Kauth. {To herself.) Meybee Frank's proud ? But there's as good 
as him, an' bether, goin' a beggin'. Sure there's Powderwig, up at the 
big house, smotherin' himself wid love of me, an' meybee I mightn't 
like him, and meybee I might, Masther Fiank, wid your airs. 

Art Oh, the unholy viilyan ! God pardon me, for spakmg it of 
yer father, Mag ; but jest to think he'd sell you— ay, sell ye, the ould 
skinflint, to that hunchy-backed little imp o' hell, Toal O'Dowl ! 

Toal. {Aside.) Beg rra it's aisy to see I'm listening, av bad words 
proves it !—" hunchy-backed little imp o hfU !" Well, that's wan 
more I owe " the ould blood !'' 
Maggie, The little leprechaun ! Not that Fd spake a bad word o' 

him 

Toal. {Aside.) Lepreclmun' s bad enough for me ! 

Maggie. No, Art., bad as he is, sure he might be worse 

Art. {Interrupting.) Not aisy, any way ! 

Maggie. Oh, he might be worse Art. ; but sure I'd sooner marry— 
I'd sooner marry avui that ould villian of a father av his than him- 
self ! 
Art. Bedad it's the choice ye'd be havm' be'uxt the two ! 
Maggie. But to think me own father'd sell me for money ! £100 

he owes Oooney 

Art. Well, and arn't ye worth it, darlin' ? 

Maggie. Ah, Art. ! sure ye won't joke darlin' over it. It's 
meself that's the unhappy craytur this day ! 

Kauth. Is it going to stop all night yez two is ? This love's the 
quare ould humbug ! 

Art. A minnit, Kauth ! — Sure, Maggie, lift yer head, me owi 
darlin', never think of the ould— ahem ! — man, but jest lift yer prett] 
face, and never mind him. Ye're mine in the sioht of Heaven ! Min( 
for ever an' ever. I'll make ye a home, I'll build a nest for my birdie 
(Going c. while sJie weeps.) 

Toal. {Aside.) Ay! It'll be the bright home— the quare ould nest 
that'll be safe from me, leprechaun and divil though I am ! 



12 ART. o'bRIEN t OR 

Kauth. Heigho ! but this coortin's mighty onpleasant when there's 
on'y three to play at it. Maggie, is it commg home ye are — I'm 
done ? 

Maggie. {Coming again to front vrith Art.) Sure I'm coming Kauth. 
Art., I swear it— true to you once, true for ever ! Ye have my troth^ 
ye have me heart 

Art. And yeur hand ? 

Maggie. Shall never be another's! {Tears herself away ^ m. e r. 
fnllovjed by Kauth. Art. gazes aftet her; lifts his hatid as taking an 
oath ; cheers up ; shoulders his bundle, and exit r., singing " The Ould 
Blood.") 

Toal. (Coming forvmrd frowning.) Shan't it, indade ! Now, av I 
was axed it, I'd say it jest would. " Ould blood's" like ould milk- 
it's apt to get cruddled, and to thicken the brain. I'v no ould blood, 
no, nor yet bould blood, for me bittherest inimy (and it's many of 
those I have, av all tales be true) never could spake me bad for 
gittin' into fights and sich like ; but I have an ould brain, and a bould 
brain, and av that don't bate Mr. Art. O'Brien yet, my names's not 
Toal O'Dowl ! (Exit l. 



ACT I. 



SCENE III. — (A street in Ballynawliack. Public house, practicable 
dA)or, M. E. R., with name of ^'Barney Scadhan^' on sign; Murty 
Nolan discovered coming out of it, and. wiping his mouth with sleeve). 

Murty. Illigant fine stuff as iver a poor ould divil put his two lips 
to ; an' meybe 1 wouldn't like anothe neyther ! " Wouldn't thrust 
a dirty ould bag of rags like ye !" says Barney Scadhan ; " not wid 
wan naggin ?" says I, "not thrust Mr Toal O'Dowl's own body-man 
wid a dirty little naggin ?" " No," says he, as cocky as possible, "no, 
nor Misther Toal O'Powl himself av he hadn't the brass"— there's 
where it is, now, brass — av wan hasn't brass, wan mav starve, for divil 
a dhrop ov whisky he'll get to ate or dbrink ! Heigho ! av I was 
quality now, an' had the brass, faix I might be diunk an' happy ivery 
hour of the day ! There's where it is— no brass no whisky, and have 
to do all Toal s dirty work— an' it's meself never knew liim to have 
any work that wasn t dirty — though he is supposed to be here on'y 
watchin' the markets— jest for the price of a naggin or two of whiskey 
a day — begorra av I do what I do now for the mather av a couple of 
naggins, I'd ha\e to do a murder for a quart ! Well, I'll have — for 
want of baccy — a dhry smoke, and jest be like a poli.sman — waitin' foi 
ordhers, and doin' nothin' but look handsome for the girls ! [Leans 
mgainst corner of house.) And, be jabers, here's jest the fine girls — 
the Murrays — wid tha*: Powdher'dpig from Mr. Norman's 

(Enter, s. E. R., Magqie and Kauth Murray, escorted by Jeames 
PoWDERWia, .carrying a big market basket, who pays great court to 

latter). 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. "^^ 

Kauth. Well, Mr Powdherwig, ye'U be tired carryin' me basket, and 

wid ye're long drive 

Powder. Tired, Miss Ka— Ko— Kau 

Kaufh Now, none o' yer impidence ! , 

fr^t. ms^ Murray^i could nevaw be ti ed m company with an 

^^^K^h Ah ffo alon<^ wid yer balderdash ! Shure anything 'd tire a 
af^r Ei^Us^*^^ of their-(^oo^mg at Ms shorts and .Ik 

Powicr Ahem ! caulves {looking on them complacently). 

i-^S Calves- heads is silly things an' m.ybe their shms is no 
betther. But, Maggie dariin', we must ^e- !^Jf^^r^ ' , , 

Powder. {To MuKTT.) My good fallaw ! is this an oteU 

Murty. k what? Oh, I see. Yez can get a dhram theie , but, 
whisper, where's the girls goin' ? 

Powder. The l-adies are a-gomg shopping. 

Murty. Nowhere else? 

Powder No, my good fellaw. , . , -r,„ ,^^ 

Murty I knowletther, Give me the price of a naggm an' 1 11 te^ 
yeasaycret-gcrraifsw'orthit. (Powderwig, with bye-pay, gives 

him money, and they ivhisper) „ Mr Pn«;flprwio- an' 

Maggie. \Ne will do our little business now, Mr. Powderwig, an 

thin we'll meet you here . 

Kavth. We've some friends-cousms mebee-to see tirst. 

Murty. There, I tould ye ! It's afther the O'Briens they i8 {to 

Powderwig.) t ^i. j o 

Powder. {Jealous.) Ladies, may I attend you _ . 

Kauth. Not a fut-good bye— we're busy {going h.) Gomg to 

^TK.' Well, that's a new name for Frank O'Brien-Dempsey ! 

Maggie. Let's hurry, Kauth, or we'll miss them ! 

MicrtT/. {To Powder.) 'G n^a ye'll be cut out ; take them that away, 
ye gommick, an' they'll miss the road. . 

^ Powder. Ladies, ladies! you're going wrong-this is the street to 
Dempsey's shop (persuades them, with comic business, to (,o with him, 

^' Murty. An' that's the English futman, is it ? . Sweet on Kau«i 
Murray too ! The unwholesome baste '.mimics ^f^^/idhis caulves 
and the male in his head Bedad, here's "Sobersides," as Toal an his 
divils name him-Frank Brien, going home to dmner ; see av i 
don't Wiii the price of a naggui out of him, sober as he is. ier 
sarvant, Misther Frank ! an' I hope all's we wid ye ? 

Frank. {Enters, i.., with head down.) Well? Oh, yes, well : thanks 
Murty, all's well, but have you seen me brother anywhere, he s not 

home at all last night. t^ , t ^^.i .^a hin^ n«' 

Murty. {Deeply.) Faix then, Misther Frank, I did see him-an 

^""XlrSo.Ty! Why? Where ?-I guessed this fellow would 
know of him— what d'ye mean, Murty ? 

Murty. Ah, what doe it matter what a poor ragged divi like ine— 
Btarvin' f or a dr— for a crust about the streets of this god-forgotten 
place— manes ; sorra a di- — a bit 



14 ART, o'eniEN : OB 

Frank. {Giving money.) Well, well, there ; where did you see him 

Sfurhj. Well ye know what happcDed him last night ? 

Frank. {Bluntly ) No, I don't 

Murty. Well, whisper, he got along wid some o' thim ran tin' roarin' 
young divils the town stinks wid, and faix they tuk to singing " The 
Ould Blood," let alone dhrinkia' whiskey-poonch galore, until the 
whole of 'em got m' i^thy quare 

Frank. Quare ! dhrunk ye mane ? 

Murty. Well dhrunk's hard spaking, Masther Frank — but most of 
'em cudn't stan', and none of em but Toal O'Dowl— an' it was he was 
kind to Masther Art. and tuk him to his own lodgin' wid him — cud 
walk alone 

Frank. Disgusting ! 

Murty. Oh, no ways at all ! Sure Masther Art. was excited wid 
singin' " The Ould Blood," an' why wouldn't he ? wid it biling in his 
own veins ? Oh, but Toal was kind to him, an' 

Frank. Where is he now ? {impatiently.) Here's another shillin', ar 
y'U stop talking an' tell me ! 

Murty. Stop talkin' and tell ! That 'd be a quare road, 

Fm?ik. Well tell me your own way, at wanst. 

Murty. Well, Toal, who's as kind a little man as iver breathed, tuk 
bim home, bein' shamed like for you to see him thataway, an' tried to 
git him to pick a bone this mornin', and to pull himself togeder an' get 
down to Tim Flanagan's to work ; but sure the dhrink was dyin' 

Frank. The drink dfrn'— {solemnly) would to God it were dead ! 

Murty. Dyin' away-like in him, ye undherstan', an' so up he gets 
an' 

• ToaVs voice s. e. r. Marty ! Murty Nolan ! Come here at wanst, I 
want ye ! {Exit, Murty. s. e. k. ) 

Frank. {Failing to stop Murty., comes forward.) Drunk ! an' not able 
to come home, or to rise for work in tlie mornin' ! Oh, my God, is it 
that this greatest curse thy earth knows is com in' on my misfortunate 
brother ? Is it that he, so honest, so noble, so generous, so kind, so 
true, ay, and so good — wan-t at least— is he fallin' into that awful 
black pit of divils dug out by drink ? God is good an' surely He will 
never let that noble boy turn into a baste— a hideous, foul monster, 
soaked in sin, bekase soaked in drink ? {Considering.) No ! God 
would niver let his own fall away to it ! But, suppose Art. leaves, of 
his own self, his God, an' in his pride an' vanity of blood, an' wakeness 
for the soft-sawtherin' of blackguards that he knows and dispises, and 
yet can't help bein' flattered by— how would it be then ? There's 
awful words ! 'God will not be mocked !" An' if he is mocked, who 
shall stay his han' ? An' Art. — there's no manner of doubt of it— has 
been droppin' his good ways— no prayers av a mornin', no mass, no 
nothin', to keep him good and true — an' these scoundrels that fawn on 
him, an' crack him up about his " ould blood," and play on his vanity 
an* his foolishness. Oh ! Art., Art. ! there is a steep, steep hill to go 
down, an' me heart misgives me ye have begun to slip on it. {Greatly 
affected., and then turns to go l. , ivhcre he is met by Maggie, KaiUh, and 
Powderwig, and starts hack confused.) 

Maggie. Frjank O'Brien ! 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 1 

Kauth. {Curtseying sarcastically.) All roiiii' the town to look for M 
O'Brien, and find him where we started from ! ( They shake hands). 

Frank. (Composed.) Looking for me ? 

Maggie. Yes, we came to shop, Frank, an' thought we'd just call ii 
neighbourly you know 

Kauth. Very neighbourly, Maggie. We didn't want to see Art. { 
all, did we ? 

Maggie. No, nor Frank, I suppose ! 

Powder. Miss Kau — , I mean Murray — only came to shop, I b< 
lieve 

Kauth. No, we didn't, eyther ; and who led us on a wild goo? 
chase ? 

Frank. (Taking Maggie aside, while Kauth pouts and flirts wit 
Powderwig.) Have you seen Art. ? 

Maggie. (Surprised.) No! Where is he? Is he not well? 01 
Frank, don't say anything has happened him ! Don't leave me i 
suspense, Frank, an' 

Frank. Maggie — he is not worthy of you— as you hope for happinej 
in this world, give him (affected) up for ever ! 

Maggie. (Starting hark.) Never ! Frank, what's this ye're askh 
me ? Are ye mad ? Give up me own hearfs darlin' ! a\ Franl 
ye're playin' on me. {Frank shakes his head sadly.) But what is it 
Where's me own Art. ? Sure there's somethin' here that s wrong 
Oh, for Heaven's sake, Frank, tell me nothins happened ! Tell m( 
Frank, at wanst, an' don t dlirive me wild wid yer mystery and suj 
pense. Tell me ! 

Frank. (Sofroivfully. ) Maggie, me poor colleen, my brother Art. - 

Murty. (Interrupting as he comes out of Scadhan's unperceivcd.) 1 
it Masther Art. yere wanting ? Sure here he 'S. ( IFith discordar 
laughing and joking from two or three voices inside, Scadhans door ■ 
flung open, and Art. shoved out, half -drunk, laughing, and excitec 
He is astounded when he sees Maggie, Frank, and others.) 

Tableau. 



ACT I. 



SCENE YY .—( Three months after last. Tim Flanagan's carpenter 
shop in Ballynawhack. Three or four young men with Ari 
O'Brien, all working except Toal O'Dowl, who is standing h 
Art., and watching his xoork. J 

Art. Arrah ga 'long wid ye, ye little omadhaun, what'd I kno"\ 
about yer cuat ! 

Toal. Thin it's yerself jest would know— sure there's never a bo; 
in the town but has a bether taste ; an' why not ? Isn't it the ral 
ould gintale blood that's coorsin' in yer veins ? Oh, bedad, ye ma; 
laugh, but it s truth I'jn spakin' 

Art. An' if I have the ould dhrop, what's that to do wid the patther] 
of a coat ? 



16 



ART. BRIEN : OR 



Pat. Faix I think if s ivery thing to do wid it 

Shaunecjt. Sure isn't it the gintry has the taste 

Tim. Ay, and wasnt the ould O'Briens .of Limerick always the 
hoight of quahty ; Jiegorra. it's Ai't. that is the gintleman, an' ha9 
the taste. Divil a lie in it now ! 

Art. [Sighing. Well, faix there may be somethin' in the ould blood 
too, but it's meselt wishes some of the ould land stayed along wid the 
blood. 

Toed. iHaJf sneering.) Sure an" that'll come back after ye get the 
bit of a shop and business av ycr own— you and Frank. 

Larry. Of coorse it will. JBedad I wish there s the same prospect 
before me, let alone the certainty. But how can the likes of huz 
compate wid the O'Briens ? An' jest see how he s gett'n' on sense he 
wanton the taytotal— savin' ivery pinny, and not spinding an ould 
rap 

Tim. {Half aside.) Whisht ! Shure ye wouldn't praise him for 
the maneness and closeness, disgracin' the ould family ? 

Art. [Overhearing and half aside.) That's the divil of it ; shure 
jviry man o' them thinks it's skmflintin' I am be not takin' me dhrop. 
(Aloud.) Shure the taytotal's on'y me o^vn — sorra a pledged man am 
I ; "n'y me own will. 

Toal. Arrah, Art. , who'd accuse ye of demaning yerself wid pledgin' ? 
—it's cn'y dried-up blagards does that. 

All {laughing). Dried-up blagards ! Listen to little Toal now ! Isn't 
he the 'cute little villyan of the wurruld wid his jokes and sayin's ? 

A7t. {Laughing.) Dried-up b agards th t s not able for no more, and 
thin goes and pledges thdrselves ! Oh,bedad, Toal, I'm wid ye there- 
it's on'y the hardened ould dhrunkards that n.ust plidge themselves. 

Toal. Thrue for ye. Well, will you come up the evenin', an' pass 
yer opinion on the patthern ? It's yerself can give it well. 

Art. Oh, ef ye insist, I'll come f on'y lave me alone to finish this 
job. ( Works.) 

Toal. Faix I wont interfere. Good bye. Ye'll be up 'twuxt seven 
and eight ? {Exit, winking to others. 

( Sce?i£ shifts to Toal's lodgings ; practicable window ; Toal and Murty 

discovered ; the former sjireading a small table with bread, cfcc, 

(candles on it,) and a large teapot; latter sitting on a law stool 

sucking at a pipe cynically ). 

Murty. An' what's the big ta}q)ot for ? 

Toal. {Bustling about. ) Tay f 

Murty. Ay, an' what's the tay for ? 

Toal. Drinkin'. 

Murty. Ay ; an' what's the whisky to do ? 

Toal. What whisky? 

Murty. Sea Ihan s whisky. 

Toal. Sure there's none. What ar' ye talk in' of ? an't me and Mr. 
O'Brien goin' to have our tay— jest like quality, eh ? {Sneers.) 

Murty. t h, that's it ? Bedad, Art. O'Brien hasn't dnrkened the 
doors this three months — an', neyther has tay ! Is it taytotal yer 
goin* to be, Toal ? Bedad it s time for me to look out a new sarvice ! 
I wouldn't demane meself wid tay ! 

Toal. Who'd be axing ye ? Tay's for yer bethers ; whisky 'ill do for 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 17 

an ould batliered naggin*, like ye — but Art. an' me's gintale, ye know* 
— reg'lar sobersides, like Frank ! 

Murty, Yer a deep divil, Toal O'Dowl, an' me mind misgives me but 
yer up to some o* yer tlu'icks now 

Toal^ Well, an' who else ? Don't 1 pay ye to help me ? Jest give 
ov6r yer smokin — makin' the place stink like a dhram-shop — an' take 
a scrap of a note over to Barney Scadlian's— an' ye may stay there till 
he finds ye away. ( Writes.) Now, off wid ye ! 

Murty. An '11 Barney give me a dhrink ? 
Aivi'& voice, at a distance, singing the ^^ Ould Blood," and advancing, 

Bedad there's the " Ould Blood ' comin'. "What about that dhrink, 
Toal? 

Toal. {Hurriedly.) Bad luck to yer dhrinking. 

Murty Same to ye, Mr. Toal. {Knock at door .) 

Toal. {Takes note and scribbles.) There ! Dhrink till ye burst, and 

be ! It has no effect on yer saison'd ould hide, on'y come back 

when Barney bids ye, an' do jest what he tells ye— be off ! be off, now ! 
{Hurries him out, s. E. R.) An' now for this swaggerin' blade, wid his 
"ould blood." It's me^elf— me, Toal O'Dowl— will mix that same 
blood afore I'm done wid it, wid the flowing filth of the town gutter ! 
{Goes L. and adviits Art. O'Brien.) Ah, Art., me boy, sure I half 
thought ye'd be giving me the .co-by. But come in, come in, and 
heartily welcome, though it is a quarther sense ye were here afore. 

Art. A quariher, Toal ! Bedad, I believe it is — let me see— oh, 
shame on it, so it is — that time when poor ]\la:gie — saints guard her 
bed this night — saw me, and me diguised m dhrink 

Toal. Ay, Art., ye were bad that while ; but what odds ? Sure ifs 
a good man's case — wanst in a way on'y, I mane 

Art. Ay, wanst in a way, av it doesn't grow on a man 

Toal. Tut man ! grow— how'd it grow on a sinsible man ? Besides, 
Art., sure all the quality that is quality, and has the rale ould dhrop 
in them, has a sup too much noAv and again — it's gintale ! 

Art. {Laughing.) Gintale ! Bedad that's the quare talk — none o' 
that gintalry for me no more ; I'm off it. 

Toal. Besides, it don't be well for a strappin' young fellow, as ye are 
Art., to be gettm' mane wid yer money 

Art. Mane ! 

Toal. Faix the boys says it — I wouldn't be repatin' tales, but sure 
it's the talk o' the place -"there's Art. O'Brien," says they, " av the 
rale ould stock, shamin' his blood," says they, wid their gassip an' talk, 
" be pretencUn' taytotal, wliin it's on'y screwing up his money he is^" 
says they, "an' " 

Art. Una rage.) Screwin' me rLoney ! An' what right have they 
to spake thataway ? I'll be screwin' their necks yit ! 

Toal. Ay, what right indade ! a pack o' ould croneens, that doesn't 
ought to spake of the ould blood at all, at all ! But come— niver 
mind their nonsinse — {shows a coat and patterns) what dy'e say to that 
now for a cloth ? Nate. 

Art. Nate enough ; but too shiny for my taste. So it's mane they 
call me ? 

Toal. {Showing another.) Ay, it's a bit bright, but that one's nater — 
niver mind, man, what they call ye, a hard name's bether than bein' a 
dhruuken blagard— hold it to the light av the candle now. 



18 ART. o'bBIEN : OB 

Art. Ay, that's bether a dale, but the pathern's too broad for ye, 
Toal — I'm not afraid o' turnin' a dhrunken blagard, sure there's a 
madium betwuxt that an' a pledged man — show us that other ? 

Toal. Which ? That one ? Av coorse a man could, ay, an' ought, 
to take his moderate glass, without takin' to dhrink, as it's called — 
how'd that wan suit me ? — to be sociable and friendly like ; an' av a 
man doesn't take it, he's ayther a poor, weak-headed fule, or he's mane 
and close wid his money — bedad I like that one. 

Art. An' ye wouldn't have a man shtop it entirely ? — there's none o' 
these much count but this wan (picking it out from rest). 

Toal. Oh, but it's you have the taste. Art. ! Illigant that'll make 
up, now — shtop a glass now and thin ? Not I ; no, nor no wan of sperrit 
ayther. It's on'y fules and misers is afraid of a hearty glass. Whisper, 
Art , that pathern yon ye've chose for me, is the very wan Mr. Norman 
of the castle was choosin' for himself in the shop. See how the gintale 
blood runs in parallels now ! A fellow like me now, nor Larry, nor 
any of huz commin' papie'd avin luk at it; but the gintry picks it out a* 
wanst ! 

Art. Oh, it's the on'y dacent one o' the lot, the others is no account 
at all. But, Toal, touchin' the dhrink, don't you, nor any one else, 
raisconcave me, I'm no plidged man, nor a close man, nor yet a mane 
man, but 

Toal. Sure /know yer not, Frank, but what mathers what /know, 
when it's the talk o' the town that ye're afraid av yer head, that ye're 

close and mane, an' a disgrace to the ould O'Brien . Ah, what 

divils' ruction's this ? (Knocking at door l. and snatches of singing. 
Toal opens window and calls out to go away.) 

Art. {Comes forward.) Mane, and a disgrace to the ould O'Briens, 
they call me, is it ? It's httle they know of me {muses). Faix, though, 
I don't know but what they're right now, afther all's said an' done ; it 
is onsocii^'jle not to collogue wid one's mates, though they may be 
on'y common blood ; an', bedad, there's no doubt it's chape to be on 
the taytotal— divil a rap I iver spend now, save in nicissaries— mawe t 
faix it may seem so, who knows ?— What is it Toal ? 

Toal. Like their impidence ! Here's these rantin' divils from 
Flanagan's want to come in and dlnink a trate Pat Molloy lift ttiem 
{qoing to window). Go dhrink in yer own lodgin', and don't interfere 
wid Air. O'Brien and meself ? 

Vaices {outside). Arrah open the door, Toal, or we'll burst it in 
Sure we're locked out av oar own place wid illness ! A dhrop of 
whisky'U warm up yer little yallow carcase, Toal, ye divil, ye ? Ay, an' 
all for nothin'— won't that plaze ye for a pau' of skinflints ? 

Art. Skmflints ; who's that spakin' ? 

Toal. Arrah niver mind their nonsinse, Art. , they're half dhrunk, I 
think. Go long wid ye ! Divil a fut ye come in here tliis night. Mr. 
O'Brien and me's having tay, or goin' to have tay ! 

Voices Tay, inagh ! Sure it's the pledged man Toal's goin' to be, 
like Art. O'Brien {laughter) ! 

Art. Arrah, Toal, let them in ; you'll have a sup wid them, but I 
won't. 

Toal. Not a fut I Yer my guest, an' I wouldn't put timptation in 
yer way 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 19 

Art. Timptation t (A crash beloio as of a door, and enter l. the /our 
tporkmen with bottles, half drunk.) 

Toal. Pretty goin's on — breakin' me door ! 

Larry. Ay, an' yer head for two two's ! 

Art. {Laughing.) Bedad it's the dhrop taken ye have, the whole o* 
ye, Umbs as ye are ! 

Larry. Dhrop taken ! Why not ? Sure we're min, not ould croneena 
Buppin' tay ! 

Shauneen. Holy Moses ! Look at Toal's taypot ! 

Tim. Ah, to hell wid the ould humbug ! (Knocks the teapot off with 
his stick. All laugh). 

Art. Faix, Toal, they'll ruin ye in crockery. 

Pat. An' aren't we able to pay for it ? We're not mane save-all's, 
like some. 

Art. {Firing up.) What d'ye mane ? 

Pat. What 1 say 

Toal. Ah, whisht, boys, whisht, sure ye can dhrink yer whiskey in 
peace and quietness, an' lave Art., who doesn't touch it, alone. /11 
have a dhrop wid ye, will that satisfy ye ? 

Shauneen. Isn't the httle fellow a man, now ? 
' Larry. Ay, that he is ; he's no ould croneen nor skinflint {looking 
drunkenly at Art). 

Toal. We will. Dhraw boxes and chairs round and fill up. Sure 
Art. won't mind {sneers), an' there's plenty av milk. {Seat themselves 
and fill, while Art. looks foolish and undecided.) Now, I'll give ye a 
toast 

All. Fill up ! A toast from Toal! 

Toal. Ay, and more than fill ! Here's : " God Save Ould Ireland !" 
{Cheers and drink.) 

Pat. {Half aside.) Holy Moses, to dhrink it in milk ! 

Shauneen. {Half aside.) Arrah lave the poor craytur alone ; it's no 
head he's got. 

Larry. Tune up a song, Toal. 

Toal. Is it me ] Is it frog-croakin' ye want ? Art. 'ill sing ua 
" The Ould Blood !" 

Tim. {Half aside.) Faix he maystwgrit, but there's little signs be 
shows av it — settin' like an ould quaker screwin' money ! 

Art. {Aside. ) It's the nice opinion they have av me, an' it's hither to 
Stan', all for nothing too. What harrum in jest on.- glass ? But no, 
I gev me promise to Frank and to me own darlin' Maggie. 

Shauneen. Tim, sing yerself. It's you can. 

All. Ay, a song, Tim ! a song ! 

(Tim Siyigs ) 

Toal. More power to yer elbow, Tim ! An' now a toast ye'll all 
drink— for ye ri<pict and love him, an' he's lavin' ye soon — " Frank 
Brien, Art's brother !" 

All Frank O'Brien ! God send him luck ! 

Art. {Aside.) To think I'd sit by and not drink me brother's health- 
but ill milk ! 

Toal. Well, Art., me boy, none can say afther that but ye're as 
good as a pledged man. {Ealf aside.) Misfortunate, wake-head 
crayturs. 



20 AET. BRIEN : OS 

Art. {Indignantly.) I'm not a pledged man, an' I can dhrink it av I 
like. I don't choose to. 

Larry. {Half aside.) Don't choose to I It's afraid he is : 

Toal. {Half aside) Ah lave the poor boy alone! Sure it's dhnink 
he'd be av he tuk a glass. 

Shauneen Bedad the whisky's rinnin' low — there's on'y wan round 
more, {loal crosses to see, and nearly knocks the candle over, puts it 
meaningly on the icindoxc sill ) 

Toal. Eight ye are, Shauneen. "WeLL there's on'y a glass apiece, 
an' one over 'ill do for oiild Murty whan he comes in, the cravtur. One 
more toast an' thin I'll turn ye out ; fill up for ** The Flower of 
Kilmona 1" 

Art. {Starts up.) Stay, Toal ! Yese'll niver have it to say I let that 
toast zo bye 1 {Aside) my darlin' Maggie 1 sure it's yerself id make me 
dhrink that health ! Give me the bottle ! {Asid^.) It's the last 
glass, and can do no harrum I {Aloud ) An' I'll drain me glass wid 
ye, to me own darlin' sweetheart — " The Flower of Kdmona !'' 

(All rise and drink the toast icith cheers, Art leading them ; ToaL 
aside displays his triumph and Joy J. 

Toal. Who's that knockin' there ? 

Murty. {Outside.) Sure it's me, wid a Line from Barney Scadhan, an 
the ordher for yer father's house 

Toal {Adrriitting Murty ^., who carries a baskei icith bottles.) Arrah 
bad cess to Barney, sendin' father's whisky here this time o' night 

Larry. Good luck to him, / say ! Open a bottle at wanst, Toal, an' 
well dhrink yer dacent father's health. 

All. Ay, open, Toal! there's more where that kem from! We'll 
mike the'ordher up to-morrow. 

Toal. Faix ye're welcome ! {Opens bottle, and all fill again ) 

Larry. Mr. 'O'Dowl's health and long life ! {Ihcy all drink. ) 

Toal. {Offended.) Alt., ye won't refuse ] me father ? 

Art. Never! Give me the bottle again ! {He fills half a tumbler, and 
drinks ) 

Art. An' now, " our host's health and prosperity :" (Drunk by all. 
Art. getting excited, fills his glass repeatedly and full.) 

Toal. {Aside to Shauneen.) Bedaid he'll soon catch us up I Now, 
boys, a roaiin', ratthng song • " The Ould Blood !" (They all fill ; 
A^T. sings ; gets more and more drunk; table falls with crash; all 
drunk ) 

Tableau. 



ACT I. 

ScE!<E \. — 'Murray's Kitchen-garden, as in Scene i ; Maggie and 
Frank discovered r and l.) 

Maqgu. Frank, it 'id break me heart to think what ye tell me of 
Art. 'd be true ; ye're mistaken, ye're wroDg. Frank : Art.'s too good, 
tL'O noble— ay, too full of the fine ould blood, Frank, same as ye are 



THE FLO WEE OF KILMONA. 21 

ver own self, to ivir turn into what you say— I dare not spake the 
norrid word — to demane himself and disgrace his family be ivir takin' 
to the dhrink. No, Frank, me heart that loves iviry bieath he draws, 
111 nivir let me think it of him — nivir ! 

Frank. Well, Maggie, I don't blame ye ; sore and sorry as me own 
heart is over it, Td nivir say one word of Art. but to yer own self. I 
know yer trothed to him ; I know ye love him — ay, ivir sence we wor 
all childre playin' togeder in the fields ayont {points)., an' I know he 
loves you thruly ; but I cannot in conscience let yez go on in darkness 
of what iviry wan else knows. Art. has the taste of dhrink on hira, an' 
ye must know it, whether ye like it or no, Mag^jie. 

Maggie. I don't know it, Frank, an' av ye say it more, I'll mistrust 
ye for makin' mischief 

Frank. JMaggie Murray, did ye ivir know me bear tales before ? 

Maggie. I did not, Frank ; and sorry I am ye've taken to it now. 
What's the poor boy done that ye'd be running him down ? Say he 
did take a glass too much at Teal's, and did raise a ruction in the town 
itself, sure he's not the first respectable lad that did it ; he's not the 
only young man — ay, or woman ayther — tnat made a fault — sure we're 
not all patherns like yerself 

frank. Maggie, don't put the bither curl on yer lip, or word in yer 
mouth ; what I said, I said for your sake an' for h'S sake, ,bekase I 
wish ye both well — bekase I love my brother, and 1 love you for his 
sake 

Maggie. It's the quare way ye have of showin' it, then, passin' idle 
stories av him, poor fellow ; an' 

Frank, I pass no idle stories, Maggie, an' well ye know it ; it's not 
getting drunk wanst, nor twist, nor raisin' the ruction agin the polls I 
mind a traneen ; but it's that when once Ai't. tastes — mind ye, 
tastes — he's done for ! He can't stop ! He's like a wild coult broke 
loose ! He's Art. O'Brien no longer, but a madman, who'd fling iviry 
thing in heaven or on earth to the wild winds, sooner than put the 
glass from him ! 

Maggie. ( Very solemnly.) Frank O'Brien, them's awful words ; God 
forgive ye for spakin' them ! 

Frank. God will forgive me, for it tears me heart to spake them, and 
I only do so bekase it's me duty. 

, Maggie. But sure Art. has a rein over himself — didn't he kape from 
a dhrop at all at a'l for three months ? 

Frank. He did, for yotir sake, Maggie ; he 

Maggie. Well, and wont he again ] 

Frank. Me heart misdoubts me av he \\\\\. There's a power of 
blagards got roun' him, led on by that imp o' hell, Toal O'Dowl I 
fear 

Maggie. (Laughing.) Is it little Toal ye're afraid av ? 

Frank. Laugh as ye may, Maggie, I am ; he gets hould a poor Art. 
be the ear, sawdherin' him about the ould blood, and the ould stock, 
until they make a complete fule of him ; and thin, worst o' all, av Art. 
gets drunk, as he did last week, sure he kapes drunk for days an' days — 
faix on'y I spoke to him av you he wouldn't be sober now ! 

Maggie. ( Who has been very pensive.) D'ye mane that from yer heart 
o' hearts^ — all that ye've been sayin' ? — do ye mane- from yer heart's 
c ore, Frank ? 



22 ART. O'BRIEN : OB x 

Frank. {Revere-ntly .) Before heaven, I do. 

Maggie. An' ye think that I, as a sinsible gerul, should break me 
troth wid him, and give him back his promise. 

Frank. I do, Maggie ; unless he kep' tajtotal for two, or mebee 
three, years, and dhrove the taste for the dkrink clane away, ye'd not 
be safe to marry him. Sorry and heavy I am to spake it— but, Maggie, 
dear, for yer own sweet sake, that ivir was, and ivir 'ill be, my sistner ; 
and for his dear sake, too ; for the fright av losin' ye may bether him, 
break off the troth ye're bound wid ! 

Maggie. {Determinedly.) I will, Frank O'Brien, this day— at last* 
before the week's out, that troth 'ill be a bygone for ivir ! 

{Exit hurriedly m. e. r. 

Frank. {Sighing deeply.) An' now it's done ; it's I that'ra sorry for 
it ! Poor Art., me brother, what is it has druv me to do this ? — me 
duty. I could not see yer own self and that noble gerul rooned for 
ivir. I know the madness that's on ye, Art. I know ye can't resist 
that cursed drink ! An' I know av Maggie does what she says, an' she 
will, it may be the fright an' the shame av losin' her, 'ill change yer 
heart to the good altogether — Heaven send it may ! (Going l ; Tneets 
PowDERWio, who affects contempt. ) Good morning, Mr. Powderwig ; I 
hope I see ye well ? 

Powder, Haw ! indifferent, indisposed 

Frank. What's the matter ^id ye ? Is it the colic that's on ye, ye 
look so hither ? 

Powder. Haw, really ! colic ? No— merely a sort of— sort oi— jenny- 
squavj feehng ! {Aside. ) Common fellow ! Poaching od my preserve ! 

Frank. Jenny Squaw ! An' who's she ? I thought it was Kauth 
M urray ye're after ? 

Powder. Ka—Ka— Kauth ? Is Miss Murray about, fellaw ? 

Frank. Fellow ! Look here, ye spalpeen, call me fellow again an I'll 
bate the powdher out of yer skin, an' lave nothin' but the wig 1 {Enter 
Kauth, and finds them collaring one another.) 

Kauth. Frank O'Brien ! Mr. Powderwig ! Stop, stop, at wanst ! 
What are yez fightin' about ? 

Fra7ik (^^'rfe.) Jest about yer own pretty self ! {Aloud.) Sure he 
called me fellaw ! 

Powder. This person applied the term spa — spal— spalpeen to me, 
and 

Kauth. Ha ! ha ! ha ! It's the pretty pair of visitors ye are— makin' 
a ba'tle groun' of father's garden ! An' what's it ye both want ? Be 
quick — sure I must rin back wid these clothes. 

Frank, j {Together, and \ I want to spake to yer dacent father— 

Powder. \ eagerly.) \ I called to enquiau after Mr. Murray — 

Kauth. {Humorously smiling and curtseying.) Oh, how polite yez 
both are this morning — father'll be flathered wid the two of ye ! I 
don't know av he's in, but sure I'll rin an' see, av yer anxious ? 

Frank. \ ifrnnofh^'^\ I I'll step up wid yerself ! 

Powder. \ \-^oy^^^^') \ Allow me to accompany you ? 
f All three exit M. e. r. ; and, after a pause enter Art. O'Brien, 8. E. L., 
looking unwell and anodous.) 
Art. Ay, there they go ! Faix Kauth keeps the two of them well 
in tow ! Poor Frank, in spite of all the preachin' he gives me— and, 



THE FLOWEB OF KILMONA. 23 

bedad, it's I wants it, too— I love him dearly — ay, an' I wisht I was 
more like him — steady, loved, honoured ; and though he is a thrifle 
cold, faix he's a thrue O'Brien — thrue to the backbone. Heaven send 
ye safe, Frank, in yer coortin — it's a happy woman yer wife 'ill be, 
who'vir she is. An' now I'll whustle for me own darlin' (pauses) ; and 
yet I dread havin' to tell her ; sure I hope Frank spoke to her, as he 
a'most threatened he'd do, about the last aftair — bah ! it makes me 
sick to think of what a fool I do be {whistles\ an' all wid a pack o' 
blagards I dispise, and that isn't fit company for any dacent man, let 
alone me that has the rale ould blood flowin'. {Dismally.) " The ould 
blood, the bould blood," &c., &c. 

Maggie. {Running in m. e. r.) Me own Art ! 

Art. Me darlin' Maggie ! The light o' me life! The core o' me 
heart ! {Embrace ) 

Maggie. Oh, Art., darlin, I longed to see ye these months' past ! So 
near to me, and yet so far away, me darlin'! Ah, Art., av ye on'y 
knew how yo've been in me thoughts — day and night — night and day. 
Sure it's more than three months. Art., sence we met ? 

Ar.t. Three weary months', darlin' ; sure I wouldn't be let away 
from Flanagan's, and yer own sweet self niver came near Ballynawhack 
but the wanst. (J. Murray enters m. e. r. and hides.) 

Maggie. {Laughing.) Faix we didn't — an' for a goo J raison — me 
father 'uldn't let me ! 

Art. Wuldn't let ye ? What for ? 

Maggie. (Lauhing.) How'd I be knowing what for? Mebee he 
thought some of the boys'd be afther me {looking round hysterically) — 
Toal O'Dowl, say ! 

Art. {Laughing,) Poor little Toal ! Bedad the little hunchy's not 
so bad neyther, IMaggie ; on'y he thinks he's goin' to have ye to wife, 
not me, ha ! ha ! 

Maggie. The little baste ! [Shuddering.) Art., it makes my blood rin 
cold to think av him on'y— to see him, or hear him talk, or touch his 
han', stops me heart with the forecast of an evil doom— ivir sence me 
father promised me 

Art. Bad luck to the ould money-grub for that same promise ! 

Jimmy. There's talk — purty talk for a boy settin' up to marry me 
daughter ! 

Maggie. Ivir sence that time Toal's been no friend o' yours, 
Art. 

Art. No, no, there ye're wrong, Maggie ; little hunchv^'s not so bad ; 
Oh ! no, no, he's not all bad — I'll say that much. 

Maggie. {Sitddcnly. ) What ! Has he ivir done ye good — make ye 
drunk ? an' thin take ye home. 

Art. Oh, be the mortial ! All the fat's in the fire, now ! Maggie, 
alanna who toukl ye that ? Sure Frank's been on me 1 

Maggie. {Tenderly) Yes, Art., Frank's on'y jest gone, an' he tould 
me all, Art. — he tould me all — an' scalded is me heart be that same 
telling. 

Art. Maggie ! — me darlin' Maggie !— don't take on so, acushla ! At 
Frank told ye all, sure all the murther's out. {Sighs.) Ah, Maggie, I 
kem to tell ye meself, an' I'm a'most sorry poor Frank was afore me. 
{Humbly. ) An' Maggie, darlin' o' me life ! I kem to go down, down on 



24 AET. BBrEN : oa 

me bended knees, an' beg av ye to pardon me — to foi^ve me. 

(Kneels.) 

Maggie. [Greatly affected. ) For^ve ye, Art, ? Ah, what have I to 
forgive ve ? Rise ye up. Art,, an' be me own brave boy again ; rise, 
Art,, sure I've nothin" to forgive ! 

Art. {In a despai/ing tone.) Maggie, there's no use talkin', I've 
shamed ye ; for the troth betuxt us is known ; I've shame 1 meself ; 
I'm on'y' a weak, faible man, wid no strength, no power, when blagards 
I dispise puts the comether on me. Mag.le, darlin' — sure it's best for 
me to tell ye out ? — I misthrust meself !" I may tak of ould blood an' 
ail that, and seem to have it bould for good, like' honest Frank, yon; but 
Maggie, darhn', in me heart o' hearts, I know it's actin' the de I am, 
and that I diu'sn't lave meself alone, like any other man for a moment 
wid dhrink — bekase I can't resist it ! I misthrust meself, Maggie, 
an 

Maggie. ( Weeping.) Oh, whisht, whisht, Art, ! what words is them 
ye're talkin' ] 8iu:e ye're wake and low, and unwell, or ye wouldn't 
spake them awful things 

Art. Awful ; ye may weU say, awful an' thrue— too thrue ! I mis- 
thrust meself, Maggie. I diu-sn't bind yere lot to mine tell I can battle 
an 'conquer; an' I'm here, Maggie, to gi^e ye back yere troth ! —to free 
ye from me ! — to strike away the chain biudin' ye to a sinful wretch I 
an' to lave ye fi-ee as the air to choose wan worthy of ye, and worthy of 
an angel 1 

Maggie. [Draunng herself up.) An' dy'e tliink I'd take it back ? It's 
little ye know the strength, an' dipth, and power of a woman's love. 
Art., av ye think that, I tould Frank I'd make our troth a byegone 
for i\'ir — so I wiU, now, at this m m^it, an' I do it be axin' ye Art. 
O'Brien (for this is no time for cliildren's shame-faced play) — be axin' 
ye, av ye'd marry me out o hand ? 

Art. (Starting idldlij. ) Marry ye, Maggie ? Dy'e mane it ? Are ye 
in aimest \ All, ye're not mockin' me ? 

Maygie. Alt., there's no mockin' here ! I've made me mind up. 
There's a deep danger before ye, an" on'y a devoted, lovin' wife, always 
be yer side, 'iU save ye. 111 be that wife at wanst ! Tours from a 
baby, yours a child, yours a wild shlip of a gerul about the place, your's 
now, a grown woman, an' youi's for ivir ! {Embrace.) 

Art. Oh, Magge, Maggie, me heart's darlin' ; you, indeed, can save 
me ; you can make of me a good and true ould O'Brien .' {Ponders ) 
But your father / 

Maygie. 3Iy father has sold me for money, as he thinks ; I choose, 
Art., to give meself for love. He may, and will object. I care not ; 
me duty is here, "vvid the husban' o' me heart 

Art. Maggie — me heart stops wid joy — at wanst ? 

Maggie. At wanst, an' thin no wan can whisper us shame. 

Art {Kneeling.) Maggie, ye have saved me life — perhaps me soul ! 

At wanst I'll step over to Father Pether's, an 

Jimmy Murray [coming foncard, brcaki/tg icith passion ; Maggie ani 

Art. start back, but in a few moments stand calm and determined.) 

Stop : Am I to belave aU thL« is airnest, or is it fules' games 1 

Both. Airnest, 1 ^^x/^^x^^^^^, I and thrue 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 



Jimmy, An' ye'll marry this— this — 

Maggie. Father ! Call no names ! I cannot go back of me word ! 
marry him to save him— body and soul— an' no wan can cry m 
harum ! 

Art. Harum, Maggie ! No harum shall come to you while Ar 
O'Brien's yer husband — I swear it ! 

Both. {Kneeling.) L/ M^^"" ' J ^^^^on us what we're going t 
^ ^ ^ I Mr. Murray ! f do— pardon, and bless ! 

Jimmy. Rise up ! Up, I say ! Bless ye 1 Ay, I'll bless ye ! Ye'r 
determined to marry this dhrunken young rip. 

Maggie. I am ! But he's no dlirunkard, Father ! 

Jimmy. Then, my bither curse Kght on ye ! May it light on y 
both ! 

{Maggie. Falling on her knees in agony ) Father, father, mercy 
Withdraw those fearful words ! {Shrieks Imidly and falls prostrati 
Kauth, Frank, and Powderwig, run on. Tableau.) 

Jimmy. Cursed be ye abroad ! Cursed at home ! Cursed in on 
another ! Cursed in yer children ! Cursed for iver be yer lot ! 



END OF ACT. 



ACT 11. 

NINE YEARS HAVE ELAPSED. 



SCENE I.— <Art. O'Brien's happy hom^ in Ballynawack, fully fur- 
nished, even luxuriously so. Art. designing some plans; MAcaiB 
housekeeping ; Patsey playing between them— all discovered ) 

Maggie. Art., darling, will ye git wan o' yere min to put me np 
another shelf in this dhresser ? Sure I've no room fur half that fine 
chaney ye brought me home ; it'll be broke. 

Art.^ {Laughing.) Well ye'se the contrairy woman, Mag. ; yere 
hearts's set on white and goold chaney, an' yere omadhaun av a hus- 
band buys it, an' thin, beaad, there's do wheres to put it ! Faix it's 
a boodoir ye'll be wanting next — the fine lady ye are ! 

Patsey. What's boodaw dada ? 
rt. Ax yere mammy, Patsey asthore; its she's the fine lady and 
knowsjall about it, 

Maggie. OL have yere laugh, Art., ve're heartily welcome; but who 
was it ye rcgue of the wurruld ye, that must be lay in' out lashins o* 
money on a fine brick-built parlour, eh Art. ? lookiu' on a gardin 
too! 

Art. Well, Mag., and culdn't we afford it ; here we've been this nine 
yeaj8, nearly to the day ye ran away wid me— 



26 ART. OBRtEN: OR 

Maggie, {shuddering.) Art. darling', don't talk o' that rinaw?y, an' 
the awful curse hanging over us mebee ! 

Art. Oh whisht about that nonsinse, Maggie, shure, as I often tould 
ye, the old man didn't rightly know what he's sayin', and so it don't 
matther a traneen. Forget it, darlin' ? 

Maggie. I try, Art., but sometimes I can't, an' again sometimes I 
can — 

Art. Well make it all "can" — sure iviry woman's able for that — 
an' about the thrun-out parlour ; why would'n't we make the place nice 
and ginatle ? haven't we the hest carpenter's business 'i thin 30 miles of 
Ballynawhack ? and .six o' the best workmin under us ? and lashins a' 
money— in a small way at laste — in the bank? an' won't Patsey here, 
the sonny av me heart (Jkisses the hoy) and little Franky, and the darlin' 
wiskeen Meg. be rale ladies and gintry when we're g«'>ne ? Tell me 
Maggie f Oh bedad the ' ' ould blood's " lookin* up ! and then ye fling a 
bit ef thiun out parlour at me head ! 

Maggie. Flung the parlour at yere head, Art? {Laughs.) Isn't yere 
father the quare man, Patsey ! 

Patsey. My dada's a gintleman, mammy ! 

Maggie. Oh good morrow to ye, sir ! sure we're all gintry now ! 
but whisper. Art., where'd all have been av Maggie Murray hadn't 
married ye ? 

Art. Maggie, my wife, by true lovin' wife, 'twas you done it all ! 
'tv as you tuk me and saved me when I was on the brink of rune, and 
Maggie honey. Art. O'Brien's not the man to forget it and av ye 
br< ught me no money, Maggie, av ye brought me nothin' in life — 

Maggie. {Shuddering.) But a curse. Art. ! 

Art. Whisht, whisht ! Maggie alanna, an' hefore the gossoon ; ah 
be a brave woman an' forget that nonsinse ; but look around at what 
grt \v up out of cur rinaway weddin ! soberness, dacency, honest work 
an' honest pay, three darlin childre, prospeiity an' a wealthy home, 
and pace of body an' sowl ! thims weddin' gifts the finest lady av the 
ould O'Briens 'd nivir aqualled ! {baby cries without) but rin' Maggie I 
there's little Meg callin' for the sup {exit Maggie, s.e.r., followed 
by Patsey.) An' I have a cake for Franky again he wakts up, tell 
him ! {goes on zuith his work.) Ay, thrue, it is for me, she had nothin' 
on her back but the owl frock she wore, but she had in her sowl the 
roakins' of happiness, ah, an of wealth, too. Heaven bless her ! — 
There, that'll plase ould Mr. Korman, I doubt, an I'll dhrive over in 
the cool av the evenin', an' show him thim plans {hums a stave of 
" The Ould Blood.'') Bedad I'd like to n' where the ould blood 'd be 
be this time av it hadn't been for darlin' Maggie ? {takes up some letters 
and. sorts tJiem), an' wasn't cute of her to save me name be not lettin' 
me take the plidge, but jest promise to meself an' her to takenottin' out 
o' me males, or except, at other times, wid herself setiin' beside me, 
an' that for seven years — bedad there's a mystery in seven they do be 
sayin' — till I got fixed in the way of it — what's this ? a note from 
Teal O'Dowl like? — an' now it is aisy for me to come and go amongst 
thim, and nivir overrt-ach mt-self at all ! Oh, she's the clivir Masfgie ! 
Well, Hr. Toal, ye little uivil, what's it ye want {opens letter). ' Would 
I come over an' ' — bad scran to ye're crooked pothooks, Toal — *an', an* 
execute' — there's a fine word — 'and execute the misurement for the 



I 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 27 

new storehouse, at me convaniance ' — see there now, how they wait on 
Art O'Brien's convaniance — * any day this wake ?' — to be sure I'll 
go. Toal, ye're not half so black as ye're painted, but know the ould 
blood when ye see it, an' av ye do have a wakeness for ye're dhrop o' 
dhrink, sure now me probation's over 1 can jine ye in a glass an' be 
nivir the worse — an' that last's darlin' Maggie's doin' — (enter Patsey, 
running s. E. e.) "What is it, Patsey, asthore ? 

Patsey. Mammy says there's Uncle Frank and Antie dhrivin' up 
the street, dadda, an' yere to go and call them. 

Jrt. Frank and Kauth ! {Knocking, and then enter l. Frank and 
Kauth.) Well it's good for sore eyts to see ye ! Welcome, and 
heartily welcome ! An' how's all at Kilmona ? 

Kauth. Nicely Art. thank ye ; and how's Maggie ? 

Frank. Ay, how is she, and the baby ? 

Art. Illigant, illigant ! Step inside Kauth and see her ; she'3 
nursin', and saw ye comin' 

Kauth. Come with Antie, Patsey. {Exeunt, s. e. r.) 

Frank. Ah thin, Art. man, but it's yourself that's lookin' finely. 

Art. Faix there's two of us then ! Marriage agrees wid ye Frank ! 

Frank. Ga 'long wid ye — sure Kauth 'd agree with any man, but — 

Art. {Laughinj.) But Powdherwig ! Arrah what a dressin' Kauth 
*d have given him av they'd been married — what's become av him ? 

Frank. He's at the big house still, an* {laughing) just as much in 
love wid my Kauth as ivir — 

Art. But come, Frank, what '11 ye take ? 

Franh. Nothin' Art. till me dinner — 

Art. Not a drop o sperrics after yere dhrive — the air's fresh ? 

Frank. {Gravely ) No ! Sure you take none out a males ? 

Art. Oh, mo probation's past, but I'm a changed man, an* av I 
take a dhrop it's on'y a dhrop, an' on'y whin occasion calls. No fear o' 
me now ! 

¥r.ink. Sure occasion did'nt call for it for nine years, an" why now ? 

Art. ^ jrah, Frank, it is the same ould croak you are in as ivir ? 
What talk's this at all to a sinsible man ? But sure ye can't help it, 
Frank — it's in yere blood av ye — but lave it man, an' come on in and 
Bee the childre. {Exeunt arm in a>m s. e. r.) 



ACT. II. 

SCENE II. {Same as Scene I., Act I. Enter Frank and Kauth l 
arm in arm, and talking. ) 

Franh. Bedad, Kauth, ye're right — sure ye always are, me own wifa 
as ye are — 

Kauth. Arrah ga long wid you ; whose else's wife 'd I be ; 
Powdherwig's (laughing), the crature ? 

Frank (Laughing). Poor Powdherwig! Faix it's hitnseif that's in 
Inve wid ye rtill ; but, as I was saying, Kauth, yr're right about 
the cr^ps, faix there'll be the finest sayson ivir known sseuse the bad 
year when 



ART BBIEN : OK 



Kduth. Ay sense when me poor father — God rest his sowl ! — made 
all the money. 

Frank. An mebee Toal's father, ould Cooney that's gone to his 
place- 



Kauth. An' it's sorry I'd be to say ichere that same place is, eh 
Frank ? 

Frank. "Whisht, whisht, Kauth asthore ; sure avin in joke I 
wudn't say that av the ould dead villyan. 

Kauth. It's the warm joke's in it for him, I'm thinking; but I'll 
lave him to what rest he may get. Ye're right, he did make a power 
o money that year, an' little Toal has it all now, an' he's not the wan 
to let it milt away! 

Frank. The divil a feai o that. "Who'd a thought ten years ago 
we'd all be so well off here — you and me in Kilmona farum ; Toal in 
his father's ayont, rowling in money ; and Art and Maggie makin' a 
fortun' in Bally nawhack — but what d'ye sigh for, Kauth, that away ? 

Kauth (Slowly). I dun no, the fortun' is there no doubt — but 
somehow it don't seem — it dont look 

Frank. It's safe enough ; barrin' the wan thing 

Kauth. Ay — "What's that ? D'ye mane Maggie takin' on so about 
fathers curse, an' he to die so soon after 'ithout takin' it back again ? 

Frank. Part that — she's heart-scalded, poor ciature, wid the 
bi-terness an' weight av it 

Kauth. Ah ! sure there's nottin' in it ? Didn't Father Roddy say it 
di In't signify a thraneen, an' that curses on'y harmed thim that spoke 
tLim? 

Frank. Thrue for him — he did. 

Kauth, I'm thinkin' that's not the curse— eh Frank ? 

Frank. Will throublethim ? Bedad I think we both think the same. 

Kauth. Ye're sharper than I thought ye, Frank, an' that's sayin' a 
dale ; but what did ye think now ? 

Frank. Faix I think the cursed be on from Art's side, not Maggie's. 
{Suddenly) I dun't at all like this suppin' av his, sense the probation's 
over ! 

Kauth. (Oravely). Nayther do I ; no nor Maggie, the crayture, 
ayiher — ye don't know half Frank ! 

Frank. (Sighing). I can make a good guess — it's growin' an him 
again — is the cursed taste for the dhrop. 

Kauth. It's that indeed, I fear. Whisper, sure Maggie toult me — 
an' I promised 1 'udn't tell a living bein' — but sure, Frank asthore, 
ye're all wan as meself ! — 

Frank. All wan ! an' sometimes, bedad, I'm the wakest wan, and 
get's knocked agin the wall — 

Kauth. Ah git out wid ye're nonsinse ! "Why would'nt, as they say, 
the grey mare be the betther horse ? But Maggie toult me — {enter 

POWDERWIG S. E. L ) 

Frank. Tould ye? — Bad cess to it! here's that omadhaun that's 
always atther ye. (Roughly). Good day t'ye Mr. Powdherwig. 

Powder. (Bowing to Frank, and offcing his hand to Kauth). May I 
hope, Miss Kau— ahem! Mrs. O'Brien, your 'ealth is haU that could 
be desired ? 

Frank. Just listen to the jackadandy I 



THE TLOWER OF KILMONA. 29 

Kauth, Sure I can't understancl ye! why don't ye spake English ? 

Powder. Speak Hecglish ! haint I a speaking as we — ahtm ! in the 
huj>per succles — address ladies in town ! 

Kauth, Ah thin ye may go back to town for me ! I don't want ye, 
an' I don't understan' ye — 

Powder. Not hunderstand me ? 

Frank. {Dryiy). Naytherdo I, What are ye follerin her for ? 

Powder. {Confused). Following? You mis— mis--nii^ap[.ieheTid me, 
Mr. O'Brien— 

Frank. Ah Miss the divil ! sure ye can't be foolin' me, What d'ye 
want ? 

Kauh. (Laughing). Aisy, aisy Frank; faix ye fright the poor 
Cray lure ! ha ! ha ! 

Howdcr. Fright! poor creetchaw ! 1 — I — good morning, Mr. and 
Mrs, O'Biion, I ham on ha visit to M-r. O'Dowl's. 

Kauth. Oh ye' re goin to Toal's ? So am I I want me butter-money 
afl liim. We'll gn together, {with a roguish look to Fravk). 

Powder. Delighted I'm shaw ! (offers aim. Frank cuts in between 
them.) 

Frank. I'm not Shaw, whoivir he may be, but i'm goin' Toal's road 
meself, Mr. Powderwig I 

Kauth. Between ye, I have no chance of gettin'. 

Frank. An' mind ye, Mr. Powdherwig, sure, withthom iUigant calves 
ye might jt-st git a wiie of yer own, an' lave other i aj)le s alone ! ye're 
fulish enough an' ugly enough to catch the rich widdy Branigan ; it's 
the pair ye'd be, y^'re all calves, and she's all pigs ! Put that in yer 
i^)ipe and smoke it. (Lxeunt R.) 



ACT II. 



i^CENElU.— (the kitchen in ToAL O'Dowl's farm house ; Toal and 
Art. O'Brien sitting at a table icith plans <i:c., also a bottle and y I asses, 
MuRTY smoking by the fire. J 

AH. (Sipping his glass. ) Oh don't spake av it I don't .'<pake av it 
Toal I Shure I'd always be glad to do me best for an' ouid frind 
like yerself — though faix I may tell ye — th« joke av it, ha, ha ! — 
that Maggie says ye're no frind ! 

Toal. (Laughing.) Maggie says that — ha, ha! 

Art. (Confidential in his liquor.) Ay, isn't it quare she'd be so sgin 
ye, an' ye an' ould flame av hers ? But faith Frank s^ys the same, 
now. 

Toal. Ah ! well ! sure a misfortunate little hunchy like nieself — 

Art. Don't take an that a way, Toal ; ye're low ; take a sup of 
whiskey ? 

Tval. Ay, an' you fill up or I won't. (Bothdrink.) Well, Art., sure 
I don't care what they spake av me, as long as 1 can kape wan friend 
that's woith the whole of them, to — to say a kind word to the 
misfortunate hun-chy ; I like ye, Art., (fill up man ! mver let lu/e 



30 ART. O BRIEN : OR 

heart fail !) I love ye, for j'e're always kind an, have the soft word for 
me. Ah ! what is it at all at all but the grand ould blood that does 
it? That's where it is, Art, ye're a gintleman, an' ye can't help 
actin' as a gintleman ! Here's ye're health ! (both drink.) 

Alt. {Laughing and getting excited) Ah ga long wid ye, Toal ! Ye 
want to put the comfcth«r on me — sure isn't Frank av the same 
breedin', an' bedad 1 may tell ye Toal, in ye're ear ye know, he 
doesn't love a bone in yer skin ! 

Toal. {Pretending haJf drunkenness.) Art. O'Brien I I know he does'nt, 
an' it's bekase I'm hunched, an' cross, an'crabbed — no other raison in 
life — he's kind and giutle and show?* the ould dhrop to i^rerywan else 
— he's the same blood as ye, but ye have it waimer and stronger and 
more nateral, an' God's blessin' an ye for being kind to the poor 
hunchy ; but, *' sorrow's dhry," and it's me that's sorry over what ye 
tell me — fill up — Murty, ye culd divil ! This bottle's out, run and 
fetch a fresh w«n. (Aside). Whisper ! Fftch the wan wid the yallow 
sale — it's as strong as hell ! — (Exit, and Murty returns with whiskey 
tattle) — an' we'll drink, in spite av all, to the health of Frank O'Brien, 
and God bless him' (both drink.) 

Art. (Lavghii.g.) Bedad, Toal, ye must cheer up out o' them blues, 
ar ye'll not be fit to spake to the geiuls in Ballynawhack, when ye 
come in to see me to-monow, ha ha ! {getting dru}ik.) 

Toal. Ye're right, I'Jl fill another whacker. After all. Art., 
where's the use of talking ? There's nothin' like the sup of whiskey 
when wan's low ! (fills a tumbler fvV.) Now jine me, there's a good 
fellow, an' poor little hunchy Toal, '11 be as bright an' brisk as a young 
coult ; but av ye don't, divil a dhrop '11 pass me own lip. 

Art. ( Dninkenly and argumentatively ). Faix it's not I'd kaps ye 
low, an' av ye wont diink 'ithout me, sure I'm bound in kindness to 
ye, Toal, to see, d'ye see Toal, to see that — laix it s all sees i am now, 
half seas-over as that quare English "caulve, " divil — Powdherwig 
ses — Well, no mattei — here's to ye, Toal, an' may ye live for ever 
and chate the divil! (drinks a tumbler off). 

Toal. Ha! ha! chate the divil! see that now, for cliverness! live 
and chate the divil — bedad, I'll have another glass on that! (fills for 
both) an' Art, asthore, tune up a fine bould song that '11 stir up our 
sowls! AVhat's that spkndid wan— ay, I have it — "The Ould Blood! 
the Bculd Blood." 

Art. (iSu'cdlows Ms liquor, flings up his hat, and bellows out the 
song drunkenhj and icith great exaggeration ; towards the end of it 
enter R. Fkank, Kauth, a>^d Pow'DEBwig.) 

Frank. Art! what's the matter? 

Art. Mather — nosin's mather! Sing us up the tune agin Frank I 
an' Kaulh, me own shisther, '11 join ? Ay an' that ould grinhiu' 
bosthoon av a Fow — av a Wigpow — Powwig — uhat the divil's yeie 
name at all, at all! (Pursues Poivderivig who runs awuy behind 
table. ) 

Frank. Art, Art, I'm ashamed of ye ! 

Ka.uth. (To ToAh fiercely) What scoundhrel's thrick's this yere 
playiu' ? 

Toal. (Quite sober.) Kauth OBrien, an' Frank! Believe me it's 
not my doiu' ! He kem dhriviu over here wid his ])laDS fiom 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 31 

Bally nawhack, an' he stopped at the village along wid Larry aud 
some of his ould collogues at Tim Flanigan's — faix he had the drop 
taken, ay an a good wan too, when he kern in — ax Murty ! ( Winks 
at Murty. ) 

Murty. Divil a word a lie in it! He was mostparts gone when he 
kem in. Whusper, misther Frank ! Toal gev him sober-water ! think 
of that now, sober-water — see the bottles lying there ! hut sure he 
wudn't touch nothin' but the whiskey ! Divil a bit else, 

Kauth. Poor ilaggie ! This is the curse indeed ! Frank, we'll take 
him home wid huz ? 

Frank. Ay, av we can get him. 

Toal. {aside) The fools ! They may take him home and welcome, 
for to-night ! But he's mine now ; I have the key av his sowl for iver,' 
an' min call it be a strange name — whiskey ! 

{Art. has been dodging Powderwig ; now catches him by the collar and 
struggle ; Frank i-c. form Tabhau and scene closes.) 



ACT II. 



SCENE lY.— (Same as Scene III. Act I. Street in Ballynawhack ; 
TiM and Shauneen leaning against Scadhan's smoking pipes.) 

Tim. Ay, I hear tell he's took on dreadful agin ; f lix, I alius said 
pride'd have a fall. He's drinking hard this six months ! 

Shauneen. Ay an' for him to be settin' up as better than huz and 
the likes o' we, wid his airs an' graces — gorra I and Toal stt our hearts 
on givin' a thwist downwards. We've put the taste av the whiskey an 
him agin. 

Tim. You and Toal, inagh ! t'was Toal aTid you I think — sure ye're 
on'y doing the little divil's dirty work ! 

Shauneen. An' what are ye, I'd like to know ? bad scran to this 
ould nipe — it's alius going out ! 

Tim. It's ye that has no taste for it — the whiskey kills the 'backy. 

Shauneen. Faix yere right. We light up the smoke from custom- 
like, but it's on'y the rale sobersides does be rightly enjying their blast 
of the pipe. — Be gorra! here comes Art., an' oh holy Moses, Tim, 
do'sn't he look downish ? 

Tim. Musha he does thin ! But ye'll see he^ll brag as big as av he 
was the sarre well-afF mau instead o' bein' near a pauper as he is now. 

Shauneen. Whisht ! see now av I don't raise the price of a drink aif 
him. {Enter Art. Seedi'y dressed and looking rather dvssipated s. e. l. ) 
Ah, Art. me boy, is that yerself thin ? Faix I didn't expect to see ye 
to-day ? 

Art. Morrow, Tim ; morrow Shauneen — and why didn't ye expect 
to see me ? — Oh wirra, wirra but it's I have the murderin' head an me 
— why Tim ? 

Tim. Oh bedad that headache jest tells it — the pig-dal'ng an' pig- 
faced Widdy Branigan says to me, this morning, says she " Faix Art, 
O'Brien was bad," says she, " last night ; and the divil a fut he'll lave 



32 ART. O'BRIEN : OR 

his bed this morning" says she ; hut says I, "what are ye talkin* about? 
sure he's no wake headed bosthoon like that English ' caulve'-chap, 
that's smellin' after ye, AYiddy ! He's the ould ,blood that cries *niver 
say die!' " 

AH. Oh ! <^hat's the talk is it ? 

Tim. Yes; "smellin' after me." says she, " faix I'd sooner have 
Powdherwig, lule as he is, doin' that ;-ame, than have a poor puny 
fellow like ye're Art. O'Brien that can't si and a dhrop at all at all !" 
says she; "Can't stand it?' sajs I, "it's little ye know av the 
strength ai' the power av the gran' ouid blood" says I — 

Shauneen {Half-aside.) Arrah hould yere balderdash! sure he cudd'nt 
stand a naggin or two now — isn't he looking in at Scadhan's dyin' for 
a dhrop, and he afeard av it ! He's no O'Brien at all J 

Art. {over hearing ) What call has the widdy to talk o' what she 
duuno about ? JM stand me whack of whiskey wid any man — ay, an' 
I d give yese a drink now, min, on'y me head's bad on account av a 
knack I gev it. 

Shauneen {Ha^f- aside.) A knack wid a glass ! 

TiTn. Faix there's nothin' like a hair av the dog that bit ye. But 
I misdoubt, ^.rt., av ye cudd stand it ? 

Art. {Aside.) Arrah, ^\ hat talks this ? An O'Brien to the back-bone, 
wid all the ould blood av cinturies in me veins, an' me to stop listening 
t© the nonsinse av a pair av gommicks that id be rogues av they wasn't 
fules. — I'll show them where the rale blood is! {Aloud) stand it? 
Jost step into Scadhan's there, an' we'll see who'll stand most. Ill 
pay for all ye dUriuk, so ye needn't stint in trvin' me strength. Come 
on. {Exeunt into Scadhan's.) 



ACT II. 



SCENE v.- (Art's home : same as Scene I. Act II. Frake: and Art. 
Bitting at table talking over some papers ; and the room emptied and 
more tumhled than informer scene). 

Art. Well me hand and me heart t'ye, Frank, bu*-. it's you has done 
me the service wid that bit of a loan ! Faix I'd go all wrong 'ithout it, 
things does be goin' so square wid me av late. That hundhred pound 
'11 save me. 

Frank. God send it may, Art ; sure it's all I could spare ye. 
But, Art., whisper, yell be a man, and — kum what may — don't break 
the wife's heart — yc've had a warnin ! 

Art. Musha don't croak, Frank, there's a good fellow — I've been 
misfortunate' av late, but won't I pull it up wanst I set to work ? now 
for the receipt {goes to desk) 

Frank {Aside) misfortunate ; ay, blame the luck, me poor Art., 
blame anything but the thrue cause — the cursed dhrink that's been 
tanging an ye so lo;ig I 

/irt (turning over almanac leaves) Arrah what's the date at all ? — ■ 
Wliurro ! Frank. 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. tS 

Frank What are ye shoutin' for ? 

Art Well that l>ates Banagher ! Here's Patsey's burdny, aiid divil a 
futt av me nor Maggie ivir to rimimbirit ! Here, Biidy ! Biddy ! I 
say — 

Frank, (d yly) What are ye callin' for ? 

Art. Arrali have ye the heart av a stone ? Wouldn't I be caHin' for 
the sonny that doats an' me, an' me not kape it — Bildy ! the burday av 
him ? — musha what wis Maggie thinking av to forgel it ? 

Frank. Not a bit av her forgot it, the craythure ; no woman ivir 
forgot the burday av her first-born yet. Mebee she thought ye'd 
kape it too much, Art. 

Art. Biddy ! It is deaf ye are ? Frank, av ye warn't me brother Vd 
call ye a baste for that sayia'. Biddy ! 

{Enter Biddy, s. e. r.) 

Biddy. Sure I'm not dif ! what d'ye want ? 

Art. Where's the mistress ? 

Biddy. Gone out, this hour past. 

Art. An' where's me sonny ? where's Patsey ? 

Biddy. Safe an' soun' in bid ! jest where he ought to be, the darlin'. 

Art. Go an' fetch him up at wanst. 

Biddy. W^hat far ? 

Frank. Sure the child's aslape, an' ye wud n't wake him? 

Art. Ah ga'long wid yese ! V/uddn't kiss the darlin' av me heart! 
the light av me eyes 1 an his burday ? Will ye ga lang an' fetch him/ 
wuman. 

Biddy. " Need's must whin the divil drives"! shall I dress the 
craythurj ? 

Art. \ Yes, av coorse, an' be quick ! 

Frank, j No, av coorse, why would ye ? {Exit Biddy s. E. R ) 

Art. Well, FranI', we must have a tumbler jest to dhrink the darlin's 
htalth — now don't be makin' long faces, itsyerdelf likes it, ould sober- 
sides though they call ye. (bustles about room). There's the kittle. 
Water ? aye, full. An' suggar, and limon— an' for Maggie to go out on 
such a night av joy ? — an' tumblars — faix she must jest take wan her- 
self when she's back, an' 

Frank. (Aside) It's well Maggie knew it, but she dursn't tell him. 
Bedad its not me hundred poun's 'ill save the business avhe gits an the 
dhriuk bad agin — faix he s made a fiueholein the turniture av this sem 
room sence I was la^t in it -all the best things gone — gone, how I an 
O'Brien shame to say it ! — gane to the pawn shop — an' for dhrink ! 
Wirra, wirra, but me heart's scalded wid him ! 

Art. Ay, the wather biles finely now, an' Frank, wan tumbler — 
■v^hy not ? — to dhrink Patsey's health ! Arrah Biddy ! be g^uick I 

Frank. Wan tumbler, Art, an no more ? 

Art. Oh divil a more ! 

(Eriter Biddy and gives Patsey half-awake to Art and exit.) 

Art. Me darlin' darlin' sonny ! the hope av me life I Sure Patsey, 
darlin' kiss me an' hug me to ye — far it's yer own burday night ? 
(embrace) 

Patsey. Me burday ' an' won't me mammy give me a purty prg»' 
sent? 



34 ART. BRIEN : OR 

Art Sure slie will, Patsey ; an' so'll 1, to-morrow, honey. What 
was it I gev ye last year me own, own, heart's pet ? 

Patsey. Sure ye gev me the arrum chair, ye made for me, daddy ! 
j4rt. See that now ! how he limimbers ! Well, an' I'll make ye a table 
to-morrow — av I'm well enuff, I mane — but anyway I'll buy ye a fine 
toy, and a cake, an' — 

Frank. Ob, bedad ye must'nt stuff him or he'll be sick. Now a kiss 
for your uncle. 

Alt Ay take him, Frank, an' may ye soon have wan like him ! 
(gives child.) an' now for our tumbler — but sure the child hasn't his 
coat ! Biddy, take Patsey and put the coat on him. It's cowld it is, 
{Enter Biddy and exit with Patsey.) 

Art. Sit ye down, Frank, till I brew the jorum {hretps) that'll be 
about it ? Eh ? A bit more sugar ? {Tastes ivhisTcey ) Bed id that's the 
rale stingo ! I'll just take a glass av it nate — sure me stomach's out av 
ordher — ah, that warms the cockles av one's heart ! have a dhrop nate, 
Frank ? 

Frank. No thank ye ! I nivir did yet, an' I nivir intend doing it. 
Art. Didn't ye ? that's quare. {Ahsevtly drinking another glass.) 
Felix I aften take it — 
Frank. Now? 

A t. Ay now — av coorse I didn't when I was on me probation, 
Frank. Ii'rf the pity, Art., ye didn't stap an it. 
Art. Whisht yer croakin' — there's yer tumbler— get outside av that 
an' it'll make ye think better av me ! {Both drink together. Enter 
Biddy with Patsey, who runs over and sits on Arts knee) 

Art. An' kum, Frank, I'll give ye the toast — here's to Patsey ! the 
hope of the ould O'Briens ! an' long life to him ! 

Frank. Amin ! an' happiness wid it, an' afther it ! {TTiey drink and 
Art sec'-etly yives Patsey a sup.) 

A t. An' ye love yer'e father, Patsey ? 

Patsey. Yis, I love me ould daddy, an' me mammy, an' me daddy 
lov* s me — don't you daddy ? 

A't. Av coorse I do! Ah! An' how could I help it? He's the 
fondest little chap ye'd ivir know, Frank — but ye'r glass is empty ! fill 
again man ! 

F ank. No, I won't ; wan'sme measure. An' yerself said on'y wan. 
No, no, no, don't fill again for me ! I'll not dhrinkit ; no, ye needn't — 
I'm determined — I'll not have it. 

At. Isn't y'er uncle the quare man, Patsey ? Av ye won't, ye won't, 
an' there's no use talkin', but faix I'll have it meself {drinks it off) an' 
now I must have me own, or I'd be chatin' meself — that's the talk, 
Patsey me man ! {mixes and d'-iv.ks) Arrah, Frank, don't be lukin' so 
sour— faix ye'd turn milk sour wid the luk av ye ! 

Frank. Better that then be a heart-scald to wife and childre. 
Art Ah then, Mr. Frank, whose the heart-scald? {Drinks ) Am I 
Patsey ? divil a fut av it." Shure I wouldn't have the hoult av the boy's 
love, Frank, av I was what ye say ? Sure he's the on'y wan — ay, avin 
better than me darlin' Maggie — that can soother me, coax me, an' git 
me to bid when I'm not well — 

Frank. {Asidh) Not well! a man '11 never let on he's drunk— on'y 
*not well r 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. dO 

Art. What is it ye be sayin', Pataey, whan ye want me to go to bed ? 
Tell uncle. (Dnnt<i.) 

Patseij. 1 say, ' Dadly, won't ye come and lie down be yer own 
Patsey, an' then ray dailin' Daddy comes wid me. 

Art. Always I ti . i 

Patsey. Alius, Daddy ye mvir refuse yere own, own, Fatsey ; and 
we lie down an go aslape. . ou 

AH. {Embracing Patsey) Me darlin , darlin , sonny! bhure 
ye must take a good sup of this poonch, Patsey, and wish me Iuck ! 

i^KX^YL starts up.) . , ,.,, j .. 

Frank. Hold, for God's sake ! Art. spare the child av ye don t spare 



{Enter Maggie r., out-door dress on, and toys in hand, ayid starts 
loith horror.) 

Maggie. Art, are ye mad ? Wudd ye poison the very son av yer 
sowl ? 

Patsey (cries) Mammy, ISlammy, ye frite me ! 

Mangie. There's toys, Patsey for yer burday ; let him down, Art. 

AH. {pa.ssionatfly, and holding the gloss to child's hps.) Not till 
he drinks me luck. 

Mai'jgc It's death and hell yere givingr yer son ! Never ! 
{dashes the glass from his hand; tableau) 



ACT 11. 



SCENE VI.— (-S'rtmg as last but quite destitute of furniture —nothing 

being left but a straw pallet, a cotcple of stools and a box or two. 

Enter H. {after knocking two or three times) Powderwig and Widow 

Branigan.) 

Powder. Well, I nevaw ! Why, Mrs. Branigan, there ain't no one 
Dor nothing in the piemises — nevaw ! 

Mrs. B. airah don't be peeping or pryin' — sure some of thim may 
come in an' ketch huz— A bed ! phaugh, call that a bed— faix 1 U 
call it — 

Powder. What, my angel wid'^aw — 

Mrs. B. Angel fiddlesticks, Mr. Powderwig— don't be coram yere 
th ricks over me — I know ve, ye rogue, ye — ye thried them same on 
Kauth Murray, that's O'Brien now, an' d'ye think I'd demane mesel 
wid her lavins ? 

Powder. Leavings, beloved Branigan, would you call your hown F. 
leavings ? {Kisses hands) 

Mis. B. Arrah dhrop yer nonsinse ! what d'ye be foUerin' me abou , 
for — answer me that now ! i i v 

Paivder. {Aside) She is a widaw, Jeames, so beware! and don t 
commit yawself, but why uo^ ? is she not liih ? has she not pigs ? oiilv 
be cautious ! {Aloud ) Following you, dearest Mrs. B. ^ Ahem— 1 
didn't follow— ahem, was it not, my sweetest of widows, who drew m« 
henchained wi'h her bewitching heyes — those horbs— 



S6 ART. o'brien : OR 

Mrs. B. {OjHng him.) What's Horbs ? Faix I don't understand 
ye ; who's horbs ? 

Powder. Yaw lovely heyes ! 

Mrs. B. Ah ga long ! its jokin ye are (aside) faix purabs he ia 
airnest though ? who knows ? an' it' the fine ligs of him he's got. 
{Aloud) ye make me blush, Mr. Powderwig, an', an' it's not (gulp) 
fair, to take, advantage of a lorne, lone, widdy — (Sobs, handker- 
chief, &c.,) 

Powder. (Confused.) Perchance her tendaw 'art is struck with love — 
love, love ah it is too delicious a dream ! besides her bankaw's account is 
splendid — Jeames, ye might do warse ! (Aloud). The lorne and the 
lone, my augel widaw, can rest and find solace on this buzzum ! here I 
hoffer a pillow for sat-upon hafFection ! here an 'arbour of refuse for 
the smashed-hup wreck of deceased Branigan's relic ! Come to me 
harms for ever ! {She drops in his aims. Enter Murty Nolan, R.) 

Mu ty. Oh Moses ! but here's goin's on in another man's house \ 
What areyese up to ? Faix I'll let out on ye, av ye don t stump up 
handsome ! Begorra Art. O'Brien'd bate ye into a jelly, Powdertvi? ! av 
heknows av ye makin a boslhoonery av his room — oh, faix it's I'll 
tell him ! (going R ) 

Mrs B (Aside ) Arrah Murty, don't be cross wid ye ! I kem to 
see poor Maggie an' this — ahem ! — gintleman follyed me in. Go away 
home, Murty, aciishla, an' 1 11 give you a shillin.' 

Murty. A shillin' ? Divil a bit, now ; make it five an I'll go. 
Whusper ; ye have him fast, av I go ; and shuie he's worth more than 
a dirthy crown ? 

Powder. (Who has been in trepidation.) I think I'll say good day, 
Mrs. 

Mrs. B. Here's yer money — now, be off! (Murty going r.) 

Powder. Yaas, yaas, to be sure, exactly Mr. Murty — I'd better 
haccompany you. (Exeunt hastily Murty and Powderwig r. 

Mrs. B. Well, now, av he isn't the dirthy coward avthe wurruld, to 
rin, an' lave me thataway ! Is he worth havin' at all, afther that ? I 
dunno — he's the illigant legs under him ; and sure, purabs, he wasn't 
afeard av Art. O'Brien, but on'y didn't like the chance of meetin* him 
an' Art., mebte, mad drunk, poor fellow ! — No 1 Not he afraid. Av I 
thought he was that, I'd nivir spake to him again. Heigho ! it's 
illigant legs he has ; an' faix I'll give him another chance ; it's mighty 
lonesome I am, an' no wan to look afther me — let alone the pigs, the 
darlins ! Well, poor Maggie, wretched craythur she is, wid that 
dhrunken baste starving her and selling all her sticks ; she's not 
com in', an I must go. Perhaps I'll church wid that Powderwig afther 
all ! {Exit R.) 
(A pause ; enier Art , s. E. L., quite drunk, dirty, and singing '*The 
Oud Blood;" sits down on box ) 

Art. Maggie — Maggie, I say !— Maggie O'Brien, d'ye hear me 1 
Arrah where the divil's she gone to now? — rampaging 'bout the 
counthry, I'll go bail ; or, mebee she's hidin* — hidin' Irom me— shamed 
av herself — ought to be av she isn't. (Rising. ) I'll look — no, not there — 
nor there ! Bedad she can't hide much anywhere here — there's no sticks 
to hide a mouse ! (Sits down on box.) Now, I wondher what the divil 
she's doub wid all those fine sticks o' tbings I gev her ? an' lavin' me 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 37 

here wid sorra a bit to drink ? drink — bedad thafs where it is — it's the 
drink — but why not ? Av I cliuse to diink me ^hack, \\ho'8 to say 
me no f Amn't I a man ? Amn t 1 an Biien— an ould Bden ar 
Limerick — an' yif, scmehows, she goes an" sells, an' pawns all me 
sticks for — drink ! i^y, an' me own darlin' Patsey. (jiiscs. ) Patsey, I say 
— where are ye at all, at all ? Bt gorra, av I thought — av I on'y thought 
for a second — she'd take the sonny av me heart from me, Id — tut 
there — Id not answer what I'd do. {Sits on box ) An' yet, sure, she's 
the darlinest av all — me own sweet culle* n dhas — the pride av me 
soul — the love av me heart — the flower av Kilmona I (Tetulerly ) Ah ! 
Maggie, Maggie ! me own Maggie! didu t I pour out me whole sowl on 
ye, aa ye on me ? Didn't 1 love the very groun" ye throd on, an' ye the 
same to me ? Wamt I the sla e av ye — the very dirt undher her feet 
for burning love av ye, for all these long, long years, an" ye the same 
to me ? An", 7iow, where is it wid us ? "What's this horrid luck that'e 
come to blight u.s, hu' put the hard word an' the hither look betuns 
us? (Voice risiwj } Who's this foul divil out o' hell that's raisin' 
blackness and cuises in our buzzums? that's makin' hia own hell in 
our own hom*- ? — curses, double curses, ten thousand curses on the 
blasted luck that s rained me thiade, bruk up me home, torn the love 
av me darlin wife from me heart— mebee stole away me sonny from m« 
for ivir. Luck, I curse ye with the bitherest curse av a ruined man ! 
{SnUr Maggie, wildly, s. e. l. , ragged, wan, and thin ; her baby at her 
bi east. 

Maggie. Oh, Art., Art, for the love of heaven give over cursing ! 
It's awful to think it all comes back on us ! Sit down me darlin" Art., 
an' calm yerself- 1 heard ye wor here alone — 

Art. {Pretending s. berntrss.) Heard I wor here ! an' why didn't ye 
answer me, an' me schreeching me inside out foi ye ? — an' where's me 
Bonny ? 

Maggie. Set down an' 111 tell ye ? For Patsey's sake, set down ? 

Art. Ay will I, for his sake. 

Maggie- That's right, sure I know y'd do what your own Maggie 
axt 8 you. 

Art. Where's Patsey, I say ; answer me that ? 

Maggie. Shure darlin', whin I was coming across the square I mit 
the widdy Branigau — an' darlin', ye won't be angry I 

Art. Where's Patbey, I say? {passion rising) 

Maggie. Shure I m tellin' ye ; an' the poor child, ay an' little 
Franky too, (wetps) oh, Art. darlin' they wor cryin' for — for— oh me 
God, that I should ivir have to say it ! — 

Art. Spake out at waust, woman ! 

Magyie. {rising) Woman ! oh Art., are you mad to spake me so ? 

Art. {Grasping her wrist) Ay, mad, I believe I am — where's me 
sonny, ye onnaturai baste av a woman ? 

Maggie. Oh for the love of God, Art., be calm ! what d'ye mane I 
what s this wildness in yeie eye! {struygles free fr a momtnt and 
places "baby on pallet ; Art follows and yiasps her ayain.) 

Art. Where's Patsey ? sfakeor I'll — 

Maggie. In heaven s name loose me ? I gev him to — 

Art. Ye gev him away from me — curse ye, ye — {grasps htr hair and 
raises his fist) 



38 ART. o'beien : OR 

Maggie. Oh mercy Art. ! for the dear love of God, mercy — murder, 
murder ! {He strikes her a violent blow in the face she faUs covered 
u'i'h blood shrieking "murder ;" he is about to strike her again when 
PoWDERWiG ruihes m nnd pins his arms. Bnier Mrs. Branioan 
ToAL Dowi, Frank Kauth, and Murty. Tableau. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. ('Widow Branigan's meal and bacon shop; bags c^ meal 
and jiitches hanging from rafters ; half -door practicable leading to street 
M. E. R.; Widow B. one side of counter, Powderwig the other, dis- 
covered. ) 

Widoic B. Ah I ye're jokin' now, Mr. Powdherwig ; sure av ye'r 
h-art's 60 salt as ye say, some av thim idle shlips av geruls — good-for- 
nolhin' sluts as th'-y are ! — some of 'm, T say, d be blatherin' it into 
their shape long ago. Its on'y decaving me ye are — wid yer blarney ! 

Poivderioig. Deceiving you, sweetawst of widows 1 nevaw ! While 
Blarney is a locality I'ave nevaw 'ad the hopportuuity of visiting, han 
hin cnusec[uence, hangelic Branigan 

Widow B. {Laughing). Oh listen to the man ! Angelic ! an' me 
wid a waste an me like wan av thim sacks ! {aside) but its the fine 
talk he has all the same ; an' the fine man ; j>st think av the ligs of 
him. {Aloud) Faix it's quare angels there must be in your heaven ? 

Powicrioig. My 'eaveu ? {Enter Murty unseen and leans over half- 
door M. E. R.) 

Widow B. Ay ; sure there must be an English heaven <»s will as an 
Irish wan {As de.) I won't say but what it 'd be a mighty warm 
w^n. {Aloud ) Shure the Irish and the English nivir agree in this 
wurrul 1 (God bless it I) an' why wud they in the nixt ? 

Powde wig. Hiwlhaw! an Hiiish eaven hand a Henglish one! 
but tec hagree, adomble Branigan ? 

Widow B. {.isde) Doesn't he talk swate now. {Aloud.) How 
Civl we ? — I doii t cnre f.-.r Englishmia, now ; they're mostly stuck-up 
p 'or fiiles that iidu't kiiow a guse fram a gandher-— no ! ye needn't be 
takin' me hand ! no, I tell ye ! I doa't like the breed av ye. {Aside.) 
Alebee, thoujih, Id putt up wid it all the same av I woraxed. {Aloud.) 
Ah ! l.tve gf> av me hand; sure, don't I tell ye I nivir cudd bear ye ? 
Poiodenuig. Not b aw yaw hown sweet P. ? Ho ! my hown, my 
best, my loveliest ! {\sde) Hi know she's the richest widd;^w hin 
the town, hand perhaps she'll ave me ; {Alond.) Nay, nevaw look 
ha.vay hand blush me ch<rryhim an' serryfim • 

Widoiv B. Wi.at's thim, thin ? Ay lave go a me ; sure yer arrnm's 
nat IfiDg ennff to raohe over the counther — {ogling) is it now ? {Aside ) 
Ii'-; the dirlin man he is, aii' I'll have him av he gives me the chance. 
{Aluud) dou't shtrain yerself — don't now — {zchisj/ering) darlin'. 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 30 



Powderwi. She calls me dawling. {Aside.) Pigs, hand shop, hand 
bank-book ! You hall are inine. {Aloud) adorable Branigan ? {iifts 
hand as if taknn an oath) here on my 

Murty {cominfj forward.) Ah, ye murderin' villyan ; wad ye strike 
the woman. {Aside.) I'll have the price av more than wan naggin 
out a this, or me name's not Murty Nolan, (dloicd.) Murdher ! 
here's the English 

Powderwig. ) 'Old, 'old ! ia 'eavon's nampi, 'old ! 

Widow B. \ Bad sf.r an t'ye, Murty, wid ye raise the parish ? 

Murty. Murilher! Oh! Save the woman ! 

Widow B. Whisht! Whisht! Wliisht ! Js it money ye want? 
here (gives 7iioney) in heaven's name! but stop ye're screechin' I 

Murty. (Takes money and turns to P.) Oh ! ye mortial villyun ! 
Murder ! Mur — 

Powderwig. Be quiet, will you 1 Money ? Pray, be quiet — here's 
haulf a 

Murty. Murdher ! he offered to strike the 

Powderwig. A crown — a whole crown — haulf a soverehin ! if you'll 
hold your iufawnal ton^'ue. 

Murty. (Pocketing tlie tnoney) Oh, that alters the case entirely ; 
and met-bee its only courtin' y« was, ha, ha, ha !— eh widdy ? Is it the 
pigs ye're lavin' an' goin' in for cmlves ? Min' they don't kick ye ! 

Widow B. Ga long, ye shameless blagard I 

Powderwig. Be good enoui^h to retiaw now ? 

Murty. Oh, anyting to oblij/e in Yv^a (going u. e. r.) 'Gorra I'm 
always ketchin' yese two coortin' — why don t yesf buckle to at wanst ? 
{aside) it's tryin' to cba'eoue another they are. {Aloud.) Oh, y'ere 
sarvint, Mrs. O'Brien! {enter Maggie, scar on foreliead, m. e. R.) An' 
how s all wid ye ? an the master, God bless him ? 

Magqie. Well, Murty Nolan ; an' will be, plase God, as long as 
he's out o' the road of ye an' the likes o' ye. I know ye're master — 
save ye, Mrs. Branigan ; Mr. Powderwig. 

Murty. {As de and yoiny) Ay, an' Toal knows you and yours. H-'s 
not done wid ye, yet. {Exit.) 

Mafigie. I want a s'one a whole male, Mrs. Branigan, and sime 
bacon an' eggs. 

Widow B. An' well yell be sprved, Mrs. O'Brien, dacent womar. 
What's the price ? how'irthat male suit ye ? An' how's Art, himselt ? 
He nivir comes down the town at all at all now. Faix I don't think he's 
been iu the .shop this two years— no ; let me see now — no ; nat since 
he tuk the pledgn. That's a fiue str* ak of bacon. 

Ma /(/i.e. Ay, hut's over fat. Thin he'll be here jstnow — he said 
he'd call far me. 

Poroderwig. Hand does he raally keep the pledge ? 

Maggie. Of course he does ; this two years. Isn't he a sworn man ? 

Widow B. (Aside.) Some breaks it for all that. 

Powderwig. Hoaths his breakable as Hi know. 

Wiiiow B. Av coorse he kape.s it ; an' isn't his business lukin' up 
fine 1 how many 'prentices have ye now ? 

Maggie. (Sighing) Only wan. It's hard to git back a thrade wht-n 
wanst it begins to shlip from ye. But we're doiu' nicely, thank ye ; 



40 



ART. BRIEN : OR 



an' can live clane and dacent at laste, glory be to Heaven ! (Enter 
Frank.) Ah, Frank! an' it's meself's glad to see ye! an how's 
Kanth ? 

Frank. Finely finely ! Well, Mrs. Branigan, and Mr. Powdherwig, 
can't ye'se settle that job's troubling ye'se so long ? 

Widow B. (Bashfully.) What are ye talkin' av ? 

Powierw'g. {Aside to B.) See, my adawble ! How hall hour 
frieiu3s hadvise hus 

Frank. Maggie ! A word ? Is it thrue that Art. sticks to his 
pledge i. 

Maggie. Thrue I How dar ye, Frank, ax me that question ? How 
dar ye, I say ? Isn't he a man ? An' an O'Brien of the ould stock ? 
Ay, and isnt he swnorn ? An' ye dar ax me such a thing ? — I'm 
as) amed av ye. Frank. 

Fra- Jc Wliisht, whisht, sure ye knew I meant nawthin' ; only 
Toal so id he — 

Maigie. Toal ODowl ! an' 'ud ye mind what that imp 'd be sayin' ? 
Shame on ye ! As sue as I'm a livin' woman — livin' and breathin' 
on this floor — Art., my own darlm' husban', has nivir tasted dhrop 
tbis two year, nivir. 

Frank. There, there then, sure I was wrong to be axin' idle tales, 
an' I'm satisfied. An don't be blamin' me, Maggie asthore ; sure we 
bad an awful thrial last time, good craythure as ye wor to take it so 
Wfll ; and faix sooner tban go through the shame an' sorra av it agin. 
] d putt the Atlantic 'twuxt Art. an' me. I wudd, Maggie ; and glad 
I am there's no cause to fear. 

Magtjie. Fear, Frank, av ye wam't me brother, and, bist frind of 
Art's. — I'd — 

(Art and Kauth appear at the half-door u. e. r. ) 

Art Ho ho, Faix it's nice coUoguing' ye're havin' wid my wife, 
Frank. 

Kauth. Ha ha, an' my husband lavin' me for me shister. An, good 
morning Mrs. Branigan, an' Mr. Powdherwig. 

W dow B. (Aside ) She need'nt be thrjing on her schemes agin. 

Frank. Ay collocruin'. Well, will ye an' Maggie take the bit a 
dinner wid us ? We ordhered some at the inn ? When ye're done 
i-Loppin', Kauth, ye'll come? 

[Ktunt YRAyK, Ajit., a/id Maggie, u. e. r. Art. remains leaning over 
the door laughing at the jealousy of WiDOW B. <f.'C.] 

Ka th Airah ga lon^, ye blackgard ! Take that (s^aps h^s face) fo^ 
off rin' to talk fol;y to a married woman ! (Exit u e. r.) 

Wicioic B Jf'st takn yerself out o this, Mr. Powderwig, an' nivir 
darken me door auin — df-cateful scoundrel ! 

p. xoder. Mis B ! hadorable Mis. B. ! I said nothing to the pawson 
she flung hawself hat me ! 

A t, (aside) H<>!y Moses listen to the liar ! 

Wi 010 B. {"sd). Like enough she did, the huapey ; she'd p-ide 
tv ta' e him fmrn me ! (Aloud). No Mr. Powdherwig, I hard ye ! 

I'o'vder. 'Esrd me? what? hangel hof me 'art, hand hof me 'ead — 

Art. (Asid). Ml powdher his 'ead for him ! 

Foiuder. 'Ere hon me bended knees, ere, though the huneven 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 41 

pavement 'arts me infawnally, I beg at my lovely widdaw's feet for 'er 
hand, 'er art, — 

Art. {Catling aw9y the ropes supporting the Jlour and bacon ovf.r 
Powderwig's head; they both fall on, ani nearly smother Fowderwig) 
Her pigs an' her male ! ( Exit Art. \ 

Powder. Scoundrel ! ho ! Hi'm smothawed, phew, Theha ! phew ! 

Widow B. (Bushing after Art). Ye hateful baste ! to half murther 
me man, and spile me male, I'll have me revinge an ye for that 
wrong. 

(Enter Frank, Murty, Maggie, Kauth and neighbours who all laugh 
at PowDERWiG and Mrs, Branigan. Tableau and end of scene. 



ACT in. 



SCENE. II. — (The bar o/'Scadhan's public-house, fitted up as visual 
Art, Toal, Murty and Larry <fcc , leaning on hogsheads, some 
smoking ; others at bur ; all drinking.) 

Larry. Ay, I'm tould he's doin' very well, takin' a power av the 
fanner's business, an' after all's said an' done that's the work pays. 
Isn't it Art ? 

Art. (thoughtfully) Bedad it is ; well I kno^ it ; the town thrade 
can't hould a candle to the work wan'd be gettin' from the farmers. 

Toal. Ay, an' how is it that it doesn't come to ye're shop now, Art. ? 
— sup yere 'cordial' man, av ye'll dhrink no betther — how is it, I say ! 

Art. Faix I can't tell at all — this is poor stuff, Barney, have ye none 
betther ? 

Barney. Ay there's betther, so the 'totlers tell me — I nivir touch the 
cat-lap ye call 'cordial' meself — on'y yell have to pay for it — it's dear. 

Jrt. An' why wuddn't I pay ? 

Toal. Hut, man alive ! It's my thrate. Fetch the best, Barney; I'm 
tie paymaster. 

Barney. Rale Dublin stingo it is too J made be wan of the illigantest 
chemists in the land. Stronger nor brandy, they do be telling me ; and 
ye' quite tay total ! 

Murty. (Aside) Quite taytotal ! listen to him now, Faix the pains 
min do be takin" to tell lies to their selves bates me. (Exit Borney.) 

Toe I Fetch it thin, and don't be pratin'. But how is it ye lose the 
thrade ? 

Tim. 
man that' 
* Won't ye sup a glass wid me ?' They don t like close min. 

Toal. I think there's somethin' in that too 

Ari. Arrah not a bit av it. Sure there s yer own case, Toal, ye wuddn't 
give a man a job jist bekase he axed ye to drink '. 

To*l No I ndn't ; but thin I'm diff rent. 

Murty. (Ande) Thank Heaven for that ! Bedad av all wor like Toal, 



It's asy enuff to explain — the farmers like the friendly sort a 
it'll- mate thim in market wid a grip av the fist, an' a hearty : 



42 ATIT. BRIEN : OR 

we'd jist as well go to blazes at wanst — the little divil — 'master/ 
though I call him. 

Barney. {Entering, and winking at Toal.) There ! luk at that now ; 
shmell it, taste it (reads label.) 'Father Mathew's own heart's cordial ! 
drunk be all the taytotlers av Dublin ?' Taste it ! 

Toal. Divil a bit ! I shtick to me whiskey, and lave cordials to ould 
wimin and boys ! 

Jrt. (Wincing.) Ye needn't boast, Toal; {Tastes and smacks lips) 
Ah ! There is a rale cordial, Barney ; that's stuff to warm the cockles 
av the heart ! 

Murty. {Aside ) Ay, an' to whirl the brains out av ye'rehead, too ! 

Art. Taste it Larry ? Tim ? Shauneen ? 

Tim ) Not I ; d'ye take me for a croneen 1 

Larry > Arrah, give it to the babby ; that's all its fit for. 

Shauneen.. ) Ga long wid the mess, Art! Sure ye ought to be 
ashamed av yer blood— you an ould O'Brien an' to drink that hogwash ! 
Git out, ye're no man at all ! 

Art. No man, amn't I ? (Defiantly/ drinks a tumbler full of the 
cordial. ) What d'ye think av that now 1 I'm not to be made dhrink 
whiskey be you, an' I'll dhrink hogwash, or any other wash just av I 
like — no man, inagh ! 

Toal. Bedad I'm half inclined to agree wid Shauneen — 

Larry. An' it's well ye may. He spakes true. 

Faddy. Nat exactly. Now I'll argufy the pint. Here's we an' the 
likes av huz, commin' clay wid no ajjerrit — 

Toal. Faix I'll put sperrit in me thin ! Boys fill up— it's my 
harvest thrate an' ye may dhrink till ye bust. 

A it. Hurrah ! for Toal. Ay, but he's the bould little chap, and 
dot sn't spare his money, or fear his whiskey. 

Art. (Drinks, and who is g tiling excited.) Toal ! I'll dhrink t'ye 
though it be on'y cordial ; y'ere a man iviry inch a ye — small as ye 
are — 

Shaunfen. Musha ye need'nt throw the smallness av his body at 
him ! bedad it's the large heart he has. 

Tim Ay an' that's betther than the ould blood, which is apt to rin 
cowld an' make a fule and a coward av a man — ^o 'tis 

Toal. Now, Barney ! Fill up all roun' ! an' dont forget Mr. 
O'Brien's medecine. 

All. Medecine ha ! ha ! ha ! listen to him. 

Art. Laugh away an' welcome. Ill have me cordial. Here's t'ye 
Toal. 

Toal. No ! Don't drink to me Art. Brien ! no man shall say, wid 
my consent at laste, "heres t'ye Toal !" in cordial Dhrink to some 
other wake-headed fule — I'm a man. {Turns away, and all laugh.) 

Art. (Embarrassed ) I'll dhiink it wheder ye like, or not. 
{Drinks and fills again.) Ha ! bedad it may be on'y cordialin name, 
but it's the rale rousin' it gevs the heart. I wondher what it's made 
av now? (takes up bottle.) Ay, dhrugs sure enough, here's J he 
'potecaiy's name " Cheatem an' Hookit " right enuf— what the dhivU 
can it be ? {Brinks again.) 

Shaxireen Arrah pitch the stuff to hill. {Strikes the nearly empty 
bottle out of Art's hand.) 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 43 

Art. (Firing up.) What's that ! Mind yerself av ye're able I 
Here's at ye. 

Toal and others (intervening.) Shtop ! Shtop"! for heaven's sake no 
fightin' min. Ye'll rune Barney wid the polls. 

iihauveen. Arrah let go o' me. Why shouldn't I fite him 1 

Art. The likes of ye to offer agin me ! Agin an ould O'Brien o' 
Limerick. 

loal. Ah far the love av heaven lave off? 

Tim. Ould O'Brien indeed, ould babby. 

Toal. Ah whisht ! whisht will you ? Art. be guided — n6 fightin', 
whisper ; sure ye wuddn't sile yere ban's wid such a commin' blagard ! 
— Shauneen, be paceful ! — Barney fill up glasses all round, an' we'll 
drink peace to the two, fine min as they are. Come now ? 

Art. Oh ! I don'L want to be in bad blood wid him. 

Shauneen. Nor I wid Art. av he'll on'y driuk wid me, an' a grip av 
the ban', and a luk in the face, at the same time — faix I'll do the same 
and thin all's over. 

Art. I'm yere man ! There's no bad blood here. 

Bainey. (Advances with glasses; Art & Shauneen grasp right 
hands anda/l stand round.) Now, min, drink good luck and good fellow- 
ship ! Sure an O'Brien's alius ready to forgive and forget ! Drink at 
wanst ! and thin all's well between ye ! dhiink ! (The two take the 
glasses in left hands and empty them. 

Art. (flinging his glass to earth.) Whiskey ! What divil's work's 
this? 

Barney (affecting amazement.) What's that ye say— whiskey ? Ye 
don't mane to say I gtv ye whskey in mistake ? Never ! 

Art. (spitting.) Whiskey, an' no mistake at all. Barney, av I thought 
now ye done that a purpose — 

Toal and others. A purpose ! what nonsinse ! Sure in the hate av the 
ruction, how'd Barney know what he gev ? Arrah drop yere blusterin', 
Art. O'Brien, and be a man. What hanum's done ? 

Art. I don't want to quarrel. 

Murty (aside.) What harrum indade ? 

Art. What's done 's done, boys, an' Barney didn't know mebee ; sure 
I'll believe him. 

Murty (aside.) Didn't knew inagh ! av course not— over the left. 
Mebee Toal didn't tip him the wii.k, ncytber ? Though the divil ft 
matter, save for the name av the tbiug, whetbei he gev him whiskey 
plain or nat, for the cordial — an' it's diunk on ii he is this bless'd minuit 
— was all pure sperrit, wid a flavour on it ; suie it's I ought to kuow— 
Beein' I med it my.self— me an' Toal— ha ! ha ! an' putt it in a medi- 
cine bottle. 

Toal. Well Art. glad I am to see you williu' to be frindly an' give 
up that quarling. Shake hands all round, and we'll have a jorum on 
it, an' a song — 

All. Ay, a song. 

Toal. *■ The Ould Blood," an' Barney, ye divil ye, fill up jorums all 
round, an' mind, no mistakes this time— Whiskey for the mm, an' 
cordial far the — 

Tim. Art. O'Brien of the ould blood ! 

Art. What talk's this ? In for a pinny in for a pcuL'. An' bure now 



4 ART. BRIEN : OR 

me plidge is broke — be no fault av mine, mind ye — I may as well be 
hung far a sheep as far a lamb. So fill up whiskey for me, Barney — 
fill bould and strong ! 

Toal. That's the right talk ! Sure he's a man agin, an' no slave. 
Here's to hill wid all enslavin', degradin', plidges ! 

Ml. To hill wid 'em I They're made for fules and childre — nat for 
min ! 
{All drink, and Art. leads off a noisy chorus while they crowd round 
the bar ; Toal and Murty come forward J) 

Toay Sing on, me bould bird ! Sing while ye can — ye've nat long — 
the net's over ye — the snares ready to spring — the twig's limed that'll 
hould ye fast for ivir ! Ye're mine, Art. O'Brien !— Mine, Miss 
Maggie, that despised and jeered me ! — Mine, till death and hUl take 
ye for their own ! 

Murty. An' a very purty sintiment. Toal O'Dowl ye're too bad for 
mel 

Toal. What's that ? What 're ye talking av, ye ould fule ? 

Murty. Ye're too bad for avin me 1 I've runed bodies far ye, but 
whin ye come to talk av so wis, I'll go no furder wid ye ! 

Toal. What? 

Murty. {Aside.) Faix I'll thry it an wid him— sure I'm poor. {Almtd.) 
I'll damn no sowls far ye, Toal O'Dowl ; it ii^n't in me wages ; an I'll 
jest afF to Maggie O'Brien an' tell her all yer divilry. 

Toal. An' what good'Jl that do ye ? 

Murty. It will, for I'll tell Art., too ! Ay, an I'll show him how we 
med the cordial av whiskey. 

Toal. Murty, don't be a bosthoon ! I'll give ye a crown — there ! — 
an' let me have no more o' this talk. 

Murty. {Taking it.) Faix, I'm poor, an' sure the poor must live, the 
craythures (Knocking without ; clock strikes twelve ; all start ; after parky 
police admitted, and leader caUs out, "Art. O'Brien here, and drunk!" 
Tableau.) 

Toal. That's as it should be ; that Art's broke the plidge 'ill be 
known all over Ballynawhack before midday to-morrow. Revenge ! 

{End of Scene.) 



ACT III.I 



SCENE III.— (Abt O'Brien's home; very poor; Maggie & Patskt 

discovered.) 

Patsey. Mammy, mammy, won't ye dhry yer tears an' play wid yer 
own Patsey ? there's a good Mammy, now. An' Mammy, you'll be tli« 
queen in the show, an' I'll be the — what'll I be, Mammy ? 

Maggie. The prince, my own darlin' ! 

Patsey. Au' what'U dad. la be, when he comes home. Mammy 

Maggie, {weeping and catching the child to her heart.) Whisht, Patsey 
dariin'; Daddy's not well, sometimes, an' can't play. He'll go slape. 



THE FLOWER OF KrLM:o^TA. 45 

Patsey. Av' I ax' 'm on'y, Mammy. He won't go for you, will he 1 
Maggie. On'y when he's unwell, Patsey ; on'y then, darlin*, he's 
contrairy, 
Patsey. But Mammy, he's near alius unwell, now ; isn't he, Mammy • 
Maggie {weeping)- Heaven on'y knows how thrue that is, Patsey I 

(EisiTig.) But, darlin', rin about awhile an' play, an' 

Patsey. Mammy, I want to spake to ye ; whisper ! Peter Byrne 
said — an' mammy won't be angry ? • 

Maggie. No, no ; how eould I ? 

Patsey. He said to me mammy, that me daddy was always— 
Maggie. Whisht ! for God's sake whisht ! 
Patsey. (Astonished.) Drunk, mammy ! the lies av him ! 
Maggie. Lies, Patsey. All lies ! nivir mind thim whin they spake 
bad av yere daddy, nivir listin thim ; it's ill he is an* wake fram hun- 
ger an' cowld (shivers) sure it's hither cowld, an' no wonder daddy's 
ill — rin about, darlin* playin* horses, an' warm verself. 

Patsey. Yes, mammy, but I'm hungry ; will ye give me supper 
mammy ? 

Maggie. Supper ! mavrone ! my swate son of sons, ye must go widout 
to-night — I — I have — no — male — 
Patsey. A bit of cowld pratee, mammy ? 

Maggie. (Aside.) Me heart's burstin' from me ! that I should have to 
say to me hungry child " no " when he axes for food ! (aloud) Patsey-, 
darlin' nivir mind it to-night, an* I'll see an' get ye — get ye — 

Patsey. Mammy, me darlin' mammy don't cry ! I made ye cry mam- 
my ! nivir mind ! (a knock heard) wipe up yere eyes, there's some one 
comin.' 

Maggie. "Who's there ? Patsey, asthore, go inside and lie down on the 
— the straw — bed I cannot call it — who's there ? 

{Exit Patsey, s.e.r.) 
Kauth {Outside.) Sure it's me — Kauth ! (Maggie opens door and 
enter K.) crying again, Maggie, oh me shisther, me shisther what's 
this awful trouble come upon yez ? 

Maggie. The throuble — the curse — the foul divil out o hell himself ! 
Drink ! Oh Kauth me heart's broke wid it — me heart's broke. 

Kauth. Sit down, darlin' an' lay yere poor hot head agin me lap — 
there — oh Maggie an' it's I feel for ye, an' pity ye— ye who deserved 

the best av husbands to get one that's killin' 

Maggie. Whisht, whisht ! not a word of that. He's me own darlin' 
husban' for iver an' iver — it's the madness that's on him. 
Kauth . Madness ? 

Maggie. The madness av drink. D'ye mind, Eauth, when we wor 
all childre together ? Was there a softer, kinder wan amongst uz than 
Art? 
Kauth. Sorra a wan — he was the pick av all. 

Maggie. An' d'ye mind, when we all growed to be young min an' 
young wimin, who was the bouldest, the bravest, the best av thim 
all? 

Kauth. Sorra to spake it — it was Art. O'Brien ! av he hadn't been, 
ye'd nivir have tuk him, Maggie ; he was the best. 

Maggie. Ay, the best ; an' the kindest, the most generous, the noblest 
ay, an' the most loving an' tinder ! Dye mind too, Kauth, how the 



46 ART. o'brien : or 

wild shlips of geruls (and who of them was wilder nor gayer than me 
and you ?) how they'd be tazing me an' sayin' Art. 'd lave me bekase I 
wasn't good enuff for him ? Dye mind it, Kauth ? 

Kauth. Ay do I, well ; an' the rage you'd be in wid them, 

Maggie. 'Twas the rage of love, Kauth ! mebee they'd call it jeal- 
ousy ; but it was love, I loved the very shadow av him, I loved the 
groun' he throd on, I loved aven the dog ar the baste he shtroked ; oh ! 
Kauth ! Kauth ! I loved him more than me sowl, more than me God — 
an' I love him still as fond as ivir ! 

Kauth. [Pointing to scar) ^yid that mark of his as ye ? 

Maggie. Ay wid that mark av his, gerul ! Though I'll carry it to 
me grave, doesn't I know he done it in madness— this ma iness av 
drick ! — see now, asthore, there's this fine, noble, darlin' young man 
we've talked av ; an' he rises in the wurruld ; an' a gerul, mad wid love 
av him, axes him to marry her ; an' he does ; an' they thrive an' pros- 
per (in spite av a father's curse) ; an' God blesses thim wid three lovely 
cbildre— oh Kauth ! Kauth ! me darling childre — 

Kauth. Be calm, sisther, be calm — 

Maggie. — an' all the— happiness — ay, an' comfort becomin their sia- 
tion — in the wurruld is their's — there's not a blessin' wantin', not a need 
remainin' unfulfilled — when— merciful God ! how can I spake the 
words ? — when the madness — the divil oat o' hill — seizes me unfortu- 
nate. Art. — the light o' me eyes — the darling av me sowl — an' all at 
wanst — a'most like a flash av lightening — all is changed — prosperity 
flies away : the thrift of years is melted like snow ; character is soon 
lost ; pace knows us no more ; aven the undyin' love bttune us is changed 
to curses and blows ! an', oh Kauth, it wriuches me heart's core to spake 
it ; an' me two lovely babes is taken from me — to heaven — betther far 
thim purabs — betther for all — but, oh Kauth .' who killed them ? 

Kauth. Whisht, Maggie darlin' ! ye musn't spake so — sure 'twas the 
faver ! 

Maggie (laughing hysterically, then crying.) Faver, Faver inagh * It 
was the dhrink that killed thim innocents- Ay Kauth, stare though 
ye may — it was the cursed dhrink, an' cothin' else ! They wor starred ! 

Kauth. Oh Maggie this is awful ! 
Maggie. Awful ! and thrue, as I live an' breathe, as I hold up that han' 
to Heaven, those babes— my own blessed darlins — by dhrink, an' 
dhrink alone, were murdhered ! (Door flies open and in staggers Art.)_ 

Art. Mur— murdhered ! AVho's talkiii' av murdhered here ? Wat d'ye 
mane be sittin' down here ? an' you, Ka— Kauth, what divil's mischief 
are you up to ? plottiu' mur — murdher ! Where's Patsey ? whore's me 
heart's sonny ? 

Kauth. Baste ! Arn't ye shamed av yerself ? 

Art. Shamed ? not a bit ! For why ? Ga long and git a bit to at« 
Mag — I'm famished wid hunger. 

Maggie. Oh Alt I have no money, sure ? 

Art. No money ! who wantsh money ? it's mate I want — get some. 
D'ye hear mc, ye slatthern 

Kauth. Wliat d'ye mane, ye blagard, be spaking to her so ? Ill lam 
ye manners, ye cowardly ah ! wudd ye 

Maggie. For the love of God, go, Kauth ! he'll kill ye mebee ; he»i 
mad when he's like this ! go, go 1 (Enter Frank) 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. 47 

Frank. Kauth ! Art ! What's this conduct ? are you wild to shtrike 
me wife ? 

Art. Ay, an' yerself too ! What d'ye luk at me thataway for ? 

Frank. One moment, be sober av ye ivir were now ! Art. O'Brien, 
y'll mebee nivir see me again — I can bear the shame no longer ; Kauth 
an' I sail for America next week ! 

Art. \ Shail for 'merica ! 

Maggie ) My God ! alone ! alone in the world ! 

(Maggie sinks iveeping on a stool, Kauth supports her.) 

Frank. An' before we go, let me say wan word of warn in' ; let me, 
in the nem of all that's most holy, pray av ye to spare that poor 
woman crouchin at yere feet ? — in God's name ? Art. 

Art. Warnin' an' prayin' me ? Ga long wid ye ! ga long to hill out 
o this (Maggie breaks from Kauth and runs out calling "Patsey!") 
Ga long lest I knack ye enta bits, ye spalpeen ye 

Kauth. For the love af God, come Frank ! (Exeunt by door.) 

Art. Ga long wid ye, ye prachin, snivellin', hound ! wid no pluck 
normanhudd ; a disgrace to the gran' ould O'Brien race. (Yells out 
"The ould Blood.") (Enter Maggie and Patsey s. e. rJ 

Patsey. Daddy, won't ye come an' lie down be yer own Patsey ? 

Art. My son av me heart I That I will, Patsey ! now ? 

Patsey (taking his hand) Ay now, Daddy, we'll go slape (Exeunt 
B. E. B.; 

Maggie. Wan night more tided over. Wan more crime staved off. 
Great Heavens above, I thank thee ! Here, an' me bended knees, i 
thank me God no blood's been shed in this roof this night (shudders 
riokntly) an' oh ! what a fearful thiug to return each night me thanks 
for ; ay, an' thanks to Heaven that keeps me safe. What's before me 
'd make most wans mad — a barren home, no food, no fire, no babes av 
me breast — but the both gan to the angels they kem from ; no fricds 
in the wurruld but those that are lavin me — not a morsel, nor a hope 
av a morsel for me starvin first-born — a darlin' devoted husban' trans- 
formed into a wild baste— a monster of cruelty an' disgu&t ! Oh 
God ! me God ! have mercy for me son's sake, me husban 's sake, have 
mercy ! (Falls, and end of Scene. ) 



ACT. III. 



SCENE IV.— Widow Branigan's shop; Toal and Widow B. die 
covered.) 

Widow B. Gane ye say ? clean gane ; 

Toal. Clean gane, bag an' baggage ; I saw thim off meself, unbek- 
nownst though ; Kauth took on dreadful. 

Widow B. Did she thin, the hussey ? Why'd she be takin' on an' her 
husban' wid her ? It's mighty quare. 

Toal. Mebee she lift a bit av her heart behind 1 who knows? Sure 



48 ART. O'BRIEN : OR 

yerie beau Powdherwig was awate on her vranst — ay, an' she on hurt— = 

are ye jealous, widdy ? 

Widow B. Jealous av her ! an* she an O Brien — be mariage though it 
is — what'd I be jealous off, inagh ! 

Toal. Faix I dunno — ony I thought ye worn't particularly swate on 
any of thim, the way theve thrated ye. 

Widow B. Troth an' ye're right. I hate the whole bilin' av thim— - 
% proud, concated lot ! — wan av thim sets her cap — an' she, Heavens 
be good to us, a married woman — at my man ; and another half kills 
the poor fellow wid a load a male dropped on his neck ! let lone a side 
of a pig ! I hate them, Toal. 

Toal. The divil a doubt o that — av I'm any judge av faces ; an' ye're 
not the ony wan, ay ther, Widdy. Well th're gane now, and there's the 
end of them ! 

Widmo B. Ony the worst's left behind, an' that's Art. Drunken baste ! 

Toal. Thrue far ye ; an' a disgrace to the town ; awful he is ! 

Widow B. Poor Maggie ! I a'most pity her at times ! near naked, an' 
stervin' about the place. Faix I'd a'most help her now, Toal, ony I 
soor I'd be rivinged an all av thim, an' her baste av a husban' above all. 
I soor it, an' I'udn't go gack o me word — 'ud I Toal ? 

Toal. Why wud ye ? Sure ye'd always kape up a proper sperrit, 
Widdy. (aside) av a woman's jealous, or afinded in her faling's about 
her man, bcdad she'll go to hill far her rivinge ! and more power to her 
elbow say I. 

Widow B. Ay that's the talk, sperrit's a fine thing, so whan Maggie 
kera here beggin' a grain o male— 

Toal. Beggin' male ? So low as that ? 

Widow B. Ay an' lower av possible ! She begged a dish av me — for 
the sonny, she said — but I sa'd, seys I, "Mrs. O.Br, en yese'll plaze not 
to ax me," ses I, for, ses I, "I've tuk a vow to give nothin'" — I didn't 
say to who — an', ses I, *' you wouldn't have me go back o' me oath ?" 

Toal. Well, an' what did she say t 

Widow B. Jest nothin', av ye plaze the proud they are still, but 
turns ou her heel an' out she goes, for the wurruld like a thragedy — 
ah Mr. Powdherwig, sure it's good for sore eyes to see ye. 
{Enter Powdherwig.) 

Toal. Good evenin' to ye Mr, Powdherwig. Troth I'll be goin'— - 
two's company, three's none. An' whisper wi Idy, strike while iron's 
hat— he's the best chance you'll get — fine ligs — an' illigant head o' 
male — an' a penny in the bank, eh Widdy. 

Widow B. Ga 'long wid ye little divil. {Exit Toal.) So, Mr. 
Powdherwig, ye're love's gan. 

Powdherwig. No, my chawmaw, yaw not gone ; yaw heaw still to 
enchant yaw hown sweet P. 

Widmo B. Ay , but the other charmer — Kauth, Murray, that was — 
aflf to Ameriky wid out ye. 

Powdherwig. Hi'm glad the paw gal's gaun— perfect baw the way she 
flung herself at me ; reawUy pitied haw. Should have taken drunken 
brothaw with haw though. Saw him just now reelin' along the street, 
singing his mad song — really Mrs. B. adawble one, he is two bad. 

Widow B. Thrue for ye ; he's the burning shame av Ballynawhack 
Dhruuk day and night — night an' day — in rags and tatthera an' dirt — 



THE FLOWEE OF KILMONA. 49 

an' liis poor wife an' boy starvin*. Heigho I wander are all min as 
decateful min ? I mind him a sober, noble, young sthrip of a fellow, 
heigho ! 

Pmvderwiff. Hall men are not. Hi ham not, Mrs. B. ; hoh my 
angel lady, hif yound' honly say the word, hif yon'd honly place thy 
'and hin mine— say, oh say most beautifu' hof Branigans, why not 
become — ahem — Mrs. Sweet P. ? 

WicUm B. (sinks into his arms.) Oh its the happy pig-jobber I am 
this day! Powderwig, darling! I'm thine for ever. 

Powdherwig. {Kissing.) Beauteous Branigan, ha, ho. [Aside.) My hi, 

hain't she a waste ? {almid) what bliss his mine, hand ho, Branigan ho, 

Branigan this his (aside) 'ang it hall, TU 'ave to let her drop. {Aloud) 

this is ho, the scrumpliest moment hof my life. 

(She tries to get up, he slipt backwards under the weight, and drops her.) 

End of scene. 



ACT III 



SCENE v.— (Art. O'Brien's home ; Maggie crouching over the empty 
fireplace and weeping bitterly.) 

Maggie. The boy ; me darlin' ; Oh would that he wor dead ? No food 
this day has passed those prutty lips, save a bare crust flung him in 
the gutther ! No clothes to keep out the icy sleet an' the bitther bitin' 
cowld ! no fire to warm the little tender limbs av him ; no bed to lie on 
but a rowl av filthy straw ! No father to care far him ony wan that's 
mad ! an' the worst madness ! No mother to cheer him, save a heart- 
broken despairin woman who cannot avin die far him. Patsey, Patsey, 
the core av me heart, there's moments whin I more than wish y« 
dead ! there's times whin black, hellish, thoughts breed in me mind, 
an' creep, an' crawl, an' mount higher an' ivir higher till they touch 
an' blaze up me brain wid poisoned idays for fagots — till they make me 
a'most feel for a kni — Great God ! Keep me sane ! {nojse without, a 
knock) whisht ! Art ? no, it is not Art., {Utterly) I know that— its too 
quiet a knocK for a dhrun — (door opens and enter Toal> You here ! tell 
me ! what's — speak — for heaven's sake tell me Art, is not — Oh, speak I 
What of Art ? 

Toal. Maggie, Maggie ! I know nothing of Art. — how should I ? 

Maggie. How should you ? Who'd know bether than the man that 
juned him ha ! ha ! / know ye, Toal O'Dowl ! Ye've nivir decaved me • 

Toal. Have I not, thin ? Well, that's a comfort t'ye anyway, Mrs. 
O'Brien. 

Maggie. Small comfort's lift me in this wurruid ; but there s wan at 
any rates, an' that's to be quit av you, Toal O'Dowl, so sp;ike yer 
business, an' be gan fram under me roof-three lest it should fall and 
kill ye. 

ToaX. Pleasant spakin'. Faix I'll take it aisy — here's an ilhgant 
arrum chair, ha ! ha ! [Sits on an old box.) 



50 ART. o'bRien : OB 

Maggie. "What impidence is this ? 

Toal. None at all. 

Maggie. Lave me house at ons't ! 

Toal. Your house, ha ! ha ! Mebee ye don't know it's my house ? I 
bought it three months ago from the poor fule that's let ye live her© 
so long 'ithout a pinny rint ; it's my house, and there's me papers. 

Maggie. Shameless villyan, that ye are ! I'd sooner lie in the ditch 
than undher this roof-three — I'll lave it — now. 

Toal. Ay ; an' the child — it's snowin' out. 

Maggie. Heartless wretch ! Me boy, me boy, how can I take ye 
out? 

Toal. Well, don't ; that's all. /'U let ye stay in ; it's a pleasure to 
come an' watch ye ; the housekeepin's illigant. 

Maggie. Av I die for it, av Patsey dies for it, I'll lave thii 
to morrow. 

Toal. Ah, thin, ye won't now. Art, won't let me. He's my servant, 
d'ye see Maggie Murray — I like that name best — he's my slave, Maggie 
Murray ; and wid wan glass av whiskey, ay or half, he does anything 
whatever /bid him Maggie Murray ; fl'ye see that, now? Ye'll stop 
here. 

Maggie. Toal O'Dowl ! av I was a man I'd — Oh ! I d tear ye as ye 
stand ! 

Toal. Ha, ha, ha, wudd ye now ? The joke av it !— But we'll quit 
coddin' and talk sense. (Rising.) D'ye mind, Maggie Murray, ivir 
callin' me me * A Poonch 'ithout the faytures, eh ? Whose the Poonch 
now? Meself? ar yere bastly blagardof a husband wid the 'faytures' 
av the dhrunkard, and 'ithout the sense avin av the Poonch ? Has 
• little Toal' bet ye there, Miss Maggie Murray ? 

Maggie. Thriumph at yer will, the thriumph's a poor wan ! 

Toal. Thriumph ! Ay, I thriumph over the ould, ould whiskey, an' 
ould cabin, wid Miss Maggie Murray, to mix the poonch wid plenty av 
faytures av sin, av sorra' an' av want !' D'ye mind that ? 

Maggie. Villyan ! heaven'll punish ye ! 

Toal. Ay, indade nom ? — Well, d'ye know what I soor ? ' Poonch 
'ithout the' faytures' 'd have his rivinge — I soor want an' sorra an* 
misery'd rivinge me ; dhrink'd rivinge me ; blows'd rivinge me (an' 
Miss Maggie Murray that's an illigant clip ye have over the eye — ha ! 
does that mek ye wince ?) I soor blood'd rivinge me ; an' haven't I 
seen it flow fram ye — at his han' — like wather fram the pump ? I soor 
7nurder'd rivinge me — an' who knows the hour but what it will ? 

Maggie. Ye monsther av hell ! wud ye put me own husban' to mur- 
dher me ? My God free me from this fearful villyun ! My God ! My 
God ! 

Toal. Ay, Maggie Murray ! call an yere God, but how will He 
answer ye whin ye're own father cursed ye ? an' who brought ye the 
c\irse ? Who, I ax, Miss Maggie Murray ? T'wasme, t'was Toal O'Dowl 
' the little Leprechaun,' putt it in the old man s heart an' worked it out 
afterwards! "Cursed be ye abroad!' he said; *' cursed at home! 
cursed in one another ! cursed in yere children ! cursed for ivir be yere 
lot !'' Has it come to ye. Miss Maggie Murray ? 

Maggie. ( Who has sunk on her knees.) Oh, mercy ! mercy ! in pity's name 
meicy ! 



THE FLOWER OE KILMONA, 51 

Toal. Did ye ivir show mercy to me ? No ! But yet— I'm not so 
black as I'm painted — 1 11 show some to you. For, Maggie Murray, 
despised and hated as I always am by ye, Maggie Murray, I love ye 
still! Whusper — 

Maggie. (Seizing a chopper.) Inhuman, disgusting monsther ! I'll 
free the wurruld av ye. (rushes at him; he escapes by door; Maggib 
flings the axe away^ bursts into tears and sinks on floor in faint; pause ; 
enter Powderwig. ) 

Powderwig. Mrs. O'Brien ! Mrs. O'Brien ! wall I nevaw ! the pore 
creetchaw's in a suvNOund ! Mrs. O'Brien, I say ! 

Maggie. (Faintly.) Who's that ? Patsey ? Art. ? Oh, my head ! 
Ah, Mr. Powderwig (rising) a faint — that's all — 

Powderioig. (Ghavely.) Mrs O'Brien, from me 'art hof 'arts I pity 
you, hand so does my sweet B. that is now — ahem — is Mrs. P. — hand, 
Mrs. O'Brien, you'll pardon the hintrusion — 

Maggie. It's few inthrudes here now — wan's jest gan, and there can't 
be a worse come — go on sir ! 

Powderwig. Forgive me ! Hi'm not an 'artless man ; Hi an* Mrs. P. 
(Mrs. B. has was) whom Hi persuaded to forget hand forgive, take the 
liberty hofif hoffering* you a place — ha berth, has I may say— hof 
comfort, hand hindependence — 

Maggie. (Eagerly.) Oh, sir, for the love of heaven, where ? Tell me 
where a poor disgraced and broken woman may be taken, to work her 
flesh from her fingers for bread for her and hers. Tell me, in glory's 
name! 

Powdei-wig. Haw ! the work would be 'ardish, is 'ardish, but the pay 
and living is good, hand you can 'ave it hat once, Mrs. O'Brien. 

Maggie. (Grasping his hand.) At once ! Oh, sir ! You've saved us, 
saved us. 

Powderwig. Ahem — but there' one condition hattached, Mrs. O'Brien, 
slight, but cannot be hoverlooked — you must come hand live hin the 
place — 

Maggie. (Recoiling.) An' lave me husban' ? 

Powderwig. Ahem ~ that his essential — leave him haltogether— my 
borders bar himperative. 

Maggie. (Sadly and firmly.) Then, sir, ye may take yere orders back 
where they kem from. I thank ye kindly, fram me heart, I thank ye, 
for thinking av me, but my duty is here. I cannot leave my husband. 

Powderwig. Cannot leave him ? Hexcuse me, Mrs. O'Brien, but it 
his madness to stop with such a man. He's — he's — he's dangerous, 
Im told. 

Maggie. Enough for me, hj's my husband. I stay wid him while 
life lasts — an' after — jest as it's plazin' to heaven. 

Powderwig. Hand you reawUy refuse, Mrs. O'Brien ? So say, yes or 
or no, finally. 

Maggie. No, a thousand times, no ! Never till the day of my death, 
or of his. I took him. / axed him to marry me, not he axed me ; 
an' avin' av it wor otherwise, I soore at the altar, I'd be his true 
wife, and never, never, shall I leave him — come woe, come despair — 
till death for ever bursts the band betune us ! Never ! 

Powderwig. Mrs. O'Brien, Hi respect hand Hi Hadmire you ; but 
you'll hexcuse me for saying your hansaw is that of a madwoman, 

Maggie, Mad, perhaps ; but true to the death ! (End of scene.) 



52 ART. O'BRIEN : OR 



ACT III. 



SCENE VI. {Outside Scadhan's ; night; Toal and Mv^rr discovered.) 

Tool. Mad ! an' wuddn'fc I be mad wid that cat o* he'll like to 
murdher me -wid an axe ? Mad indade. 

Murty, {Aside.) Gorra it's pity she didn't rid the wurruld av the 
baste. {Al(yud.) Oh, bebad, that althers, the case, an' no wondher, Toal, 
ye're put out — a cat o' hell indade. 

Tool. Murty ! av I wasn't afraid av the noise — no harm tellin' you' 
for no wan'd believe yer oath — av it wasn't far the noise — sea there 
{showing brace pistols in belt) I'd a shot her ! 
Murty. Wudd ye now ? Bedad it's kind o ye. 

Toal. No nonsense wid me to-night, Murty ! I'm in no humonr to 
Btand it. Do what I bid ye ; fill him up mad wid dhrink — make him 
a wild raving madman an' — we'll go there ; I'll say no more ; do as I bid 
ye ; and there's all the gould I have about me for airnest or more. 
Murty. {Clutching gold.) Twenty-two golden sovereigns. 
Toal. Mind ye do it ! Mad, I say, ravin' mad must Art. O'Brien b» 
an hour or two hence. {Exit s. e. e.) 

Murty. It's bloody villuny, I know's up ; but what can a poor ould 
scowliogue do ? Faix I'll hide the gould away — it's dangerous to be 
found an one. {Exit l. {Enter Art. in tatters ; pale as death, bloodshot 
e'des, misery, m. E. R") 

Art. {Maudlin.) Pity a poor lost man! — an ould O'Brien av 
Limerick ; bedad I'll sing ye the grand song av the rale ould stock, an' 
all for the price of a uaggin. Sure it's chape it is. Arrah whisht! 
There's no wan to hear me now, an me dyin' far a sup av whiskey ; an' 
there's Scadhan's, so warm and cosy — ay, an' listen to the laffin' — 
mebee at me — didn't that imp o' hill, Barney, kick me out av his doors 
this day for beggin' the price av a glass ? the mane, dirthy scoundhrel-^ 
an' me that spint a fortune there in dhrink ? Curse the dhrink ! 
Curse it, I say ! Curse the man that makes it ! Curse the man that 
lives by it ! Curse the man that sells it ! Curses for ivir light an the 
head av those that timpt to it — Ay, Art. O'Brien, Art. O'Brien, it's 
well ye may curse it ! "Whete's me strength, an' manhood, an' pride 
now ? — Gone to the wild, bleak winds av heaven ! Where's me religion? 
— Gone for ivir ! Where's me home — me own dear home — that I tuk 
the joy an' the glory in ? — Gone for ivir! Where's the thrade that 
thruv as no ither man's thruv ? — Gone for ivir ! Where's the darlin 
babes I loved — little Franky, the dailin' little crathure wid the goulden 
hair, an' the eyes av heaven's own blue ; and me wisheen Meg., the 
angel an airth, wid the angel voice av her — where are me childre ? — 
Gone for ivir ! all but me sonny — me own sonny Patsey — an av he'd 
^o — av he'd go ! nathin' should hould me on earth ! nothin' — heaven 

Itself 'udn'tstop me ; 'ithout Patsey I'm a roaring wild biste an' 

Maggie ! the Maggie av me youth av me wild love, the Maggie I 
worshipped— ay adored ! Great God ! what is she now'i Wan — wasted 
— starved — half-naked — bathered, bathered I say, with that trimbling 
fist ! Oh VVl go mad to think av it all ! read ! mad ! tor the dhrop to 
keep me up — mad ! 



THE FLOWER OF KILMONA. ^S 

Murty entering l.) Art. O'Brien ! arrah what are ye screechin' about ? 
Bedad the pohs'll have ye ? 

Ars. Murty Nolan ! for the love av heaver give me a dhrink 1 For 
y'ere dear sowl's sake git me a sup of whiskey ! 

Murty. See how low he is ! wanst I was beggin av him ; now I'm his 
masther. Well I will — I will — in wid ye to Scadhan'a. Damn me I'll 
earn the gould ! (Exewnt into Scadhans' end of scene.) 



ACT III. 

SCENE VII.— ("Art O'Brien's home, same as previously ; Ma<jgie and 
PowDEEWiG discovered.) 

Maggie. (In tears.) No, Mr. Powderwig, I must say no ! An' its wid 
black despair ating at me heart I say it. Weary an' worn, an' beaten 
down am I in this miserable wurrld ; an', av it plazed the Almighty, 
oh ! how willingly, how gladly, how I'd rejoice to lay here — now — lay 
down and pass away to nothin'— an' spite av all that misery an' woe 
of body and soul, 1 cannot take what ye offer me, an' — 

Powderwig. Pray, Mrs. O'Brien, considaw again yaw feeble position 
— considaw the boy's. 

Maggie. Me brain's nigh an fire, an' me heart's near burstin' wid 
thinking av it — but I am resolved. I thank ye, an' I bless ye, an' yere 
good wife too— shure help comes aften from where it's least expected, 
glory be to God ! — an' the thanks an' prayers av a heart-broken, most 
miserable, almost despairin' mother, may be something ; but wid me 
thanks an' me prayers there's all ended betune us ; niver need ye offer 
me help agin ; I can not, an' I wiU not, so help me heaven ! lave my 
husban' av me own will ! 

Powderwig. But the boy ; surely you will let us take the boy from 
here ; he will die here — 

Mvggie. Die •' ay, an' the sooner the betther ! Let him go to his 
God, an' what more can we hope for ? Die ? — so be it. 

Powdherwig. Mrs. O'Brien, Mrs. O'Brien, surely this is sinful? 
This is indeed terrible— give us the boy, pray let me take your dear 
little Patsey away ? (the door is burst in; Art., mad with drink rushes in.) 

Art. Take away Patsey ? Damned viilyun o' hill, would you stale 
me child— I'll kill ye. 

Maggie For the love of heaven, Art ! Stay ye're hand. Murdher ! 
Oh, rin, rin, in there. [Exit Powderwig s. e. r. Maggie after him; 
Art. following is tripped by a stool and falls.) 

Art. Bring him out I hunt him out, Maggie ! The robber av me 
child ! Bring him out (arms himself with chiVds stool and stands near JD, 
Powderwig enters hurriedly from s.e.r. Art flings stool with all his force, 
Powderwig iwwijss ^o one side disclosing Patsey (a dummy J who is knocked 
down dead by theblow; Maggie falls over thebody ; a loud cry of "murdher/" 
und enter Toal, Murty, Mrs. Powderwig cfcc <i:c.^— Tableau / ARTflin^t 



•54 ART, o'brifn. 

up his arms and cries, " My God ! I've killed my son!" Powderwig runs 
under his arms and secures him. J 

ToAL. Murdher ! Murdher ! Seize the Murderer ! (Runs towards 
Art., who struggles free from Powderwig, seizes the pistols from ToaVs belt 
shoots ToAL and then himself ; a pause.) 

Murty (Spurning ToaVs body.) Filthy divil ! Iviry bit av this was yere 
own handiwork. 

Maggie. (Raising her head cries wildly. ) Drink ! Drink ! God remove 
from ns this Curse of Drink ! 

Green Curtain and End. 



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